Joelly led Liberty to the administration building. “Let’s brush some of the food and leaves off of you before we go in. I’ll bet you have a good story to tell me about this one day.”
“I do!” Liberty said.
“Mrs. Vice handles admissions. She’s a cranky old bird, so I’ll stand by and make sure everything goes okay.”
Liberty followed Joelly into the grand building and up a huge wooden staircase.
Mrs. Vice, sadly, was one who judges others on appearances, although her own was not so hot. She had a gray shriveled face and a mouth that puckered like she’d swallowed a lemon.
She took one look at Liberty and raised a newspaper in front of her face. “We don’t need any new employees.” Ignoring people was her puny way of feeling powerful, when her job was to help them.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Vice,” Joelly said.
Mrs. Vice turned to the weddings page. She liked to look at the smiling brides and imagine how miserable they would soon be.
But Joelly wasn’t one to be ignored. She rapped on Mrs. Vice’s desk like it was a door. “A prospective student is here.”
“All I see is a street urchin who isn’t clean enough to work in the kitchen.”
“I would like to begin school at once,” Liberty said.
“At once? School will be out in five weeks, and the students will return home. We are certainly not accepting applications for this term!”
Liberty’s heart sank. Returning home? She had assumed that once you went to boarding school, you stayed forever.
“Well, give her an application for next year, then,” Joelly demanded.
“The deadline has passed. The selection process is closed.” Mrs. Vice held the newspaper up in front of her face again.
“Wait here. I’ll get the head teacher,” Joelly told Liberty, and dashed off.
“Madame Torso sent me,” Liberty offered.
“Madame who?”
“She went here, about… ninety years ago.”
“Some dead person is of no interest to me.” Mrs. Vice kept the newspaper firmly in front of her face.
Liberty looked at the paper more closely. There was her face with the words MISSING CHILD underneath it.
Joelly reappeared, tugging a lady who looked young enough to be a student. “Mrs. Vice? What is going on?”
To Liberty’s relief, Mrs. Vice put the newspaper down.
“This child—” Mrs. Vice spit the words out like a nasty bit of food—“wants to attend the Sullivan School.”
“Well, give her an application, then.”
“The deadline has passed.” Mrs. Vice winked.
“It has not!” the teacher said.
“Look at her.”
Liberty winced as the teacher looked her up and down, afraid she might agree with Mrs. Vice, but the teacher smiled and then turned back to the old secretary. “You seem to have forgotten the story of Carol Sullivan, who started the school that employs you.”
“Times have changed since then!”
“The mission of this school has never changed. The Sullivan School does not discriminate. You will please give her an application.” The teacher turned to Liberty and held out her hand. “What is your name?”
“Liberty Aimes.”
“I am Ms. Klaus.” The teacher shook her hand. “Like Santa Claus, only with a K. Thank you for coming to get me, Joelly. You’d better return to lunch. I don’t want any growling stomachs in Botany this afternoon.”
“Good luck!” Joelly gave Liberty a thumbs-up. Liberty watched her slide down the banister. Perhaps she would do that some day.
Ms. Klaus snapped the application out of Mrs. Vice’s hand and gave it to Liberty. “Your parents need to fill this out and sign it. The deadline is in two weeks, so please have them return it quickly.”
“My parents?”
“Yes, we must have a parent’s signature.”
“I’ll bet she doesn’t have any.” Mrs. Vice snickered. “She belongs in an orphanage.”
“Mrs. Vice, hold your tongue.”
Scoundrel, Liberty felt like adding, but she wisely held her tongue.
“Of course she has parents,” Ms. Klaus said, but she wasn’t too sure. The child in front of her looked like she’d been living on the streets. “Don’t you?”
Liberty nodded.
“Good.”
“She needs her school transcripts, too,” Mrs. Vice added.
“School transcripts?” Liberty asked.
“The record of your previous years at school,” Ms. Klaus explained.
“I’m homeschooled.”
“In that case, there are tests to take. Don’t worry. We have several children admitted who were homeschooled. What grade will you be entering?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, how old are you?”
Liberty thought hard. Her birthday was in the spring, not that her parents ever celebrated it. “Ten. Or maybe eleven. What date is it?”
“April twentieth.”
“I guess I’m still ten.”
“Ridiculous,” Mrs. Vice said.
“Can you read?” Ms. Klaus asked.
“Oh yes, I’ve read lots of books.”
“What’s the last book you read?”
“Alice in Wonderland.”
“Splendid. Can you do math?”
“Yes. And I can lay bricks, too.”
“Hah!” Mrs. Vice guffawed. “There’s also a five-thousand-dollar deposit due with the application.”
A lump formed in Liberty’s throat. There was no chance of her ever coming up with five thousand dollars, let alone her parents’ signatures. “F-five thousand dollars?”
“Come, let’s take a walk.” Ms. Klaus took Liberty’s arm and led her outside. “Then we can look over the application together. I’ll bet you haven’t even had lunch.”
“No. Not breakfast, either.”
Ms. Klaus shook her head, which meant Something is awry, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
They strolled down a sloping path that gave a view of the school grounds and took them past beautiful gardens.
“You’ll have to forgive Mrs. Vice for being so rude. Five out of her six marriages made her bitter.”
“What about the sixth?” Liberty asked.
“The wedding was a week ago. So far, so good.”
“Who was Carol Sullivan?” Liberty asked.
“A girl who grew up in an orphanage. She had no formal education, but she was very clever. At the orphanage, her job was to fix things. When she grew up, she invented objects to help make women’s lives easier.”
“The mechanism that went inside the first washing machine. A motorized sewing machine. Lots of other things. Once she became wealthy, she started the Sullivan School. It was originally an orphanage, but unlike the one where she grew up, it gave orphans an education equal to that of the best schools. It went on that way for about fifty years, but eventually the endowment wasn’t enough to keep up with costs, and orphans were placed with families instead of in institutions. This then became a private school.” They came to a small cottage. “This is where I live,” Ms. Klaus said. “We’ll have lunch and then I can help you with the application.”
“Lunch,” Liberty said. The mere thought of eating made her knees go weak. Everything went dark.