squinted. After a moment, she caught my squinting, and her mouth curved in a cunning smile. I turned back to my compositions, willing myself not to blush.
During the break, she sauntered by.
“I noticed you staring, Miss McClure. I may as well give this to you now.” She handed me one of the cards with a flourish of her hand. “Mama likes for me to present these early, and in person. I planned to pass them out next week, but you are here now.” Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “Here with us. When we all thought we’d be in town.”
“You might have been here every Saturday for the rest of term had I reported what was really going on last night,” I reminded her, keeping my voice low.
She merely sniffed in response. I looked over the card.
YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED AT A
C HRISTMAS SUPPER FOR SEMINARY FACULTY ,
ADMINISTRATION, AND SENIOR STUDENTS
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING ,
THE TWELFTH OF DECEMBER ,
IN THE HOME OF
S AMUEL AND C ORA A RCHER B ELL .
“How nice,” I murmured, having never attended such a function in my life. Fortunately, I had ages to pick Olivia’s brain on the matter.
“We’ve held this party every year since I was a little girl. It’s always entertaining to see the teachers in their finery. I’m sure you have something quite splendid in your wardrobe, Miss McClure.” Her mouth curved into a cold smile. “I look forward to marveling at it.”
I forced my own smile. “Your script on this invitation is as pretty as copperplate, Fannie. I wonder why it is that I can barely read your compositions? Ah, well, now I know what you are capable of.”
She pursed her lips, and then turned as Miss Crenshaw entered the library with a bundle of letters in her hand. “Oh, look, the mail has come,” she said, nodding toward the door. “Are you expecting anything, Miss McClure?” She lifted her eyebrows and waited. “I didn’t think so,” she said with syrupy sweetness. “I’ve noticed you never get mail. You post letters in town, and yet you never receive a reply. In fact, you never seem to expect a reply. It’s very curious. I have grave doubts about this beau of yours.”
My hands clenched into fists under the table. “I already told you I’ve not been writing to a beau.”
She pouted in mock sympathy. “And not a single letter from family or friends? Ah, look,” she said as Miss Crenshaw handed her a small bundle, “here are two for me!”
How I longed to tear that lovely hair from her head! She was sassy and rude, and … her curiosity about my mail was alarming. She was a sly one—no doubt about that. I’d need to be more cautious when posting my letters.
And I’d need something decent to wear to her blasted party.
That night, as I stared at the ceiling and mused on rivers and welcoming seas, the tapping started its familiar rhythm. I banged my head against the pillow, cursing whatever was truly responsible for the noise. Finally, I got out of bed with a groan and sat in the wooden chair by the desk.
The tapping stopped.
I heaved a sigh, relieved by the silence but knowing it would start again as soon as I’d returned to my bed. So I laid my head on the desk, shivering at a sudden chill near the windows.
A shriek pierced the quiet.
I leapt from the chair, and it skittered backward with a shriek of its own. I nearly fell but caught myself, knocking my elbow painfully on the desk. My fingers shook as I fumbled with the match, but finally I managed to light my lamp and carry it out into the corridor. The door next to mine opened, and a pale face peeped out. “Get back in your room and stay there,” I whispered. The poor girl’s face softened with relief as she shut her door. The screams continued, sounding more and more terrified. I considered a retreat to my own room. Couldn’t I pretend to have slept through it all? But Miss Crenshaw would frown upon such cowardice, and she frowned at me quite enough already. So I took a deep breath and made my way down the
During the break, she sauntered by.
“I noticed you staring, Miss McClure. I may as well give this to you now.” She handed me one of the cards with a flourish of her hand. “Mama likes for me to present these early, and in person. I planned to pass them out next week, but you are here now.” Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “Here with us. When we all thought we’d be in town.”
“You might have been here every Saturday for the rest of term had I reported what was really going on last night,” I reminded her, keeping my voice low.
She merely sniffed in response. I looked over the card.
YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUESTED AT A
C HRISTMAS SUPPER FOR SEMINARY FACULTY ,
ADMINISTRATION, AND SENIOR STUDENTS
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING ,
THE TWELFTH OF DECEMBER ,
IN THE HOME OF
S AMUEL AND C ORA A RCHER B ELL .
“How nice,” I murmured, having never attended such a function in my life. Fortunately, I had ages to pick Olivia’s brain on the matter.
“We’ve held this party every year since I was a little girl. It’s always entertaining to see the teachers in their finery. I’m sure you have something quite splendid in your wardrobe, Miss McClure.” Her mouth curved into a cold smile. “I look forward to marveling at it.”
I forced my own smile. “Your script on this invitation is as pretty as copperplate, Fannie. I wonder why it is that I can barely read your compositions? Ah, well, now I know what you are capable of.”
She pursed her lips, and then turned as Miss Crenshaw entered the library with a bundle of letters in her hand. “Oh, look, the mail has come,” she said, nodding toward the door. “Are you expecting anything, Miss McClure?” She lifted her eyebrows and waited. “I didn’t think so,” she said with syrupy sweetness. “I’ve noticed you never get mail. You post letters in town, and yet you never receive a reply. In fact, you never seem to expect a reply. It’s very curious. I have grave doubts about this beau of yours.”
My hands clenched into fists under the table. “I already told you I’ve not been writing to a beau.”
She pouted in mock sympathy. “And not a single letter from family or friends? Ah, look,” she said as Miss Crenshaw handed her a small bundle, “here are two for me!”
How I longed to tear that lovely hair from her head! She was sassy and rude, and … her curiosity about my mail was alarming. She was a sly one—no doubt about that. I’d need to be more cautious when posting my letters.
And I’d need something decent to wear to her blasted party.
That night, as I stared at the ceiling and mused on rivers and welcoming seas, the tapping started its familiar rhythm. I banged my head against the pillow, cursing whatever was truly responsible for the noise. Finally, I got out of bed with a groan and sat in the wooden chair by the desk.
The tapping stopped.
I heaved a sigh, relieved by the silence but knowing it would start again as soon as I’d returned to my bed. So I laid my head on the desk, shivering at a sudden chill near the windows.
A shriek pierced the quiet.
I leapt from the chair, and it skittered backward with a shriek of its own. I nearly fell but caught myself, knocking my elbow painfully on the desk. My fingers shook as I fumbled with the match, but finally I managed to light my lamp and carry it out into the corridor. The door next to mine opened, and a pale face peeped out. “Get back in your room and stay there,” I whispered. The poor girl’s face softened with relief as she shut her door. The screams continued, sounding more and more terrified. I considered a retreat to my own room. Couldn’t I pretend to have slept through it all? But Miss Crenshaw would frown upon such cowardice, and she frowned at me quite enough already. So I took a deep breath and made my way down the
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