Chapter 2

Caroline hurried from the carriage stop. After spending the weekend at her parents’ apartment in Holyoke, she was a little sad yet excited to be returning to the life she knew at the academy.

She glanced at the small watch pinned to her best blouse. She’d be late for the first staff meeting of the upcoming new year. But Mama had begged her to come for the weekend before the term began and she became too busy to visit regularly as she had during the summertime.

The buildings that made up the academy came into view as her feet carried her closer to the front gate. The clock at the church on the square began to chime the hour. She had but eight chimes before she was deemed late.

This was not a way to show Mrs. Wickham that she was up to the job of headmistress and director of Wickham’s. Her eyes stung with perspiration that trickled from her brow, and she brushed the liquid away with her free hand while she tightened the grip on her satchel with her other hand.

Caroline crossed the threshold at the stroke of eight. A few more paces and she’d reach the great room where Mrs. Wickham and the other staff likely had already assembled. She forced her steps to slow as she drew closer to the open doorway. She tucked her satchel into a corner of the snug little bench in the hallway, sucked in a deep breath, and willed her fluttering heart to slow to a steadier pace.

Chin up, shoulders square, she took determined steps into the room, her traveling shoes making sharp clicks on the parquet flooring until she reached the edge of the carpet.

Seven heads turned in her direction and seven pairs of eyes regarded her, as did Mrs. Wickham, who stood before an unlit fireplace. Her hands were clasped together just below her waist.

Her fellow teachers had returned, but there was another pair of eyes she didn’t recognize in the room. They were brown and owned by a gentleman likely around her age. The one she’d seen the other day, walking along the courtyard and taking in the sight of the academy grounds. He had a thin mustache and spectacles that perched on the end of his nose. He pushed them up with one finger and continued to stare at her.

“Very good.” Mrs. Wickham’s voiced filled the room. “Now that we are all present, introductions all around.” She nodded in the direction of the man, who now had his focus on her.

He cleared his throat. “My name is Mr. Stephen Mason, and I shall be teaching upper-level mathematics and assisting Mrs. Wickham with administrative duties as required. I taught previously at the Armstrong Academy in Cambridge.”

The other teachers took their turns, and then all attention was on Caroline. The man’s gaze on her contained more than curiosity about meeting a new colleague. Why?

She cleared her throat. “Miss Caroline Parker. I teach English composition, all levels, and art. I have taught at Wickham Academy for eight years.”

She didn’t miss the surprise in Mr. Mason’s eyes. Yes, she had been straight out of teacher’s college in Westfield, and Mrs. Wickham had hired her right away. But she was a good teacher, and she would continue to prove that to them all.

“Now that introductions have been made, let us venture to the main hall where I will unveil our initiative for the 1895 to 1896 academic year.” With a sweeping gesture, Mrs. Wickham waved them toward the hallway that Caroline had hurried through not fifteen minutes earlier.

Caroline’s curiosity was piqued, not so much by the new gentleman—the only gentleman—in the room, but by the prospect of what Mrs. Wickham would share with them. What change was to come? Whatever it was, Caroline imagined it must be a big one if it was a yearlong venture.

They assembled in the front hall at the foot of a wide, grand staircase that led to the upstairs rooms. Something flat, covered with a cotton cloth, hung on the wall. The large framed painting of a landscape of Mount Holyoke had been taken down, and whatever this was had been hung in its place.

Caroline and her fellow teachers exchanged glances. No one else seemed to know what this was about either.

Mrs. Wickham paused. She was good at the pause, which made others listen more intently. It was something Caroline had picked up on after years of dealing with sometimes impetuous and unruly students. Instead of growing louder and demanding attention, she would simply engage the “Wickham Pause,” which Mrs. Wickham was now demonstrating.

“As most of you know, or I hope you know, the Games of the First Olympiad will be held next April, in Athens, Greece. This is an international event that brings together competitors from all over the world.” Mrs. Wickham looked at each of them in turn. “I thought it appropriate that we should have our own First Olympiad here at Wickham Academy.”

Olympiad? What did that mean? Would they hold footraces and other types of contests? What could young ladies learn from that?

Caroline held her tongue and waited.

“Yes, Charlotte?” Mrs. Wickham nodded in the direction of Miss Huckabee, who taught grammar. She’d been at the academy far longer than Caroline.

“Will the students be competing in games? How will we play games and get our studies completed as well?”

“A very good question.” Mrs. Wickham tugged on the cloth, and it fell away to reveal a large square board, painted white. A long black line divided the white space in half, top to bottom. At the top of the left side, printed in black lettering, was the name MASON, and at the top of the right side was the name PARKER.

Listed to the left were subjects of study.

Caroline swallowed hard. Her name at the top of the board? And Mr. Mason’s?

She had so many questions they nearly threatened to suffocate her.

“I see you are all wondering what this means, and of course I will explain.” Mrs. Wickham pointed to the board. “Our Olympiad will be academic in nature for this school year. We will have two teams, captained by Miss Parker and Mr. Mason. Quite simply, your students will determine the winner for the year. The winning students will receive a special prize. The winning captain will also receive a prize.”

A prize. The directorship of the academy. It had to be the prize for the teacher. Whoever had the best students would win.

“Each student will draw a name for a team, either Miss Parker’s or Mr. Mason’s. In turn, Miss Parker’s and Mr. Mason’s success will depend entirely on how their students perform.” Mrs. Wickham’s voice sounded matter-of-fact. “The losers will not suffer consequences or have to endure a penalty. However, they will not get to enjoy what the winners will receive.”

Her team’s students could make—or break—her chance of becoming the headmistress of Wickham Academy. If they did well, she would do well. If they did poorly? Well, the majority of the students at Wickham did not do poorly. There were some who struggled with subjects, such as mathematics or grammar, but given time and tutoring, most succeeded in their studies. But what if a student was unhappy with Caroline, might one of them try to sabotage her efforts? In the end, the winners would be the students, and ultimately, the academy.

She tried not to glance at Mr. Mason but at last gave in to the urge. He wore an expression nearly as perplexed as the one she knew she wore herself.

Stephen’s collar felt like a shackle around his neck as he stood in the front hallway of the academy’s main building. He wasn’t sure if he was up to this challenge. He’d been prepared to teach and assist his aunt. But now, adding a competition to the mix? He felt like he’d tumbled into the deep end of a swimming hole and was kicking his way to the surface.

Now that Aunt Marjorie had finished making note of which students were on each teacher’s team, Stephen cleared his throat.

“Mrs. Wickham, if I may?” he asked. His aunt nodded in response. “I understand the students competing against each other for this competition. But the faculty competition?”

“I’m glad you asked. For the students, we will not have individual scores on the board. Instead, we will compute an average of all students’ scores who are assigned to your team. In addition, the faculty will be grading you on your leadership for each quarter of the year.”

“I understand.” He glanced toward Miss Parker, who wore a puzzled expression. She caught him looking her way and her features softened. Then her face bloomed pink.

Stephen blinked. Here he was, brand-new, and he was already being assessed like this? Well, if he was to lead an academy, then he would need to know how to command a staff of faculty, some of whom were likely more expert than he. Such as the older woman who taught grammar. Miss Huckabee, was it? She appeared to be close to his mother’s age.

“Teachers will report grades regularly to their captains, who will then calculate the averages and submit them to me for approval before the average is posted above. The average will be updated every quarter.”

Another teacher raised her hand and Aunt Marjorie nodded in her direction.

“So, if I may ask, how did you arrive at the decision for team captains? Mr. Mason is new, and Miss Parker is not the most experienced teacher. I believe Miss Huckabee is our most senior member of the faculty.” The woman looked at Stephen suspiciously and then at Miss Parker, as if Miss Parker did not meet with her approval.

“Miss Dunham, I selected the two I thought might be likely candidates for my replacement someday.”

Several of the women gasped. “You’re leaving us?”

Aunt Marjorie laughed. Stephen did not ever remember hearing her laugh before. His interactions with his father’s sister had been limited over the years, and quite frankly, when he was a child, her teacher’s demeanor did not endear her to him. He hadn’t been the best student as a child, and yet he had managed to complete his education near the top of his class after his father dared him that he could not.

Father’s bluff had worked, far more than he had likely imagined at that time.

“No. Not yet. But there will come a time when I won’t be here. Wickham Academy shall always be my home. Yet I find myself wanting to step away from time to time, and I need to know I will have someone running it well for me.”

Having that conversation with Aunt Marjorie in her study and then hearing the same words in a faculty meeting were two different things. This could really be happening. He wanted to win. If he lost this, he wasn’t sure what that would do to his position in the family, as precarious as it was at the moment.

Nothing more was said as his aunt let that bit of information sink in. Stephen could hear only the tick-tock of the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway.

“Here we go. Each of you, except for Miss Parker and Mr. Mason, pull a name from the bag.” Aunt Marjorie held another bag up, shaking it as she did so.

Each of the remaining six teachers pulled a slip of paper from the bag. Miss Huckabee, Miss Dunham, and Miss Brock drew Miss Parker’s name, and Mrs. Benoit, Miss Webster, and Miss Duggan selected his name. So he had the French teacher, the history and geography teacher, and the manners teacher reporting to him.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Aunt Marjorie paused, scanning their faces as she did so. “None? Very well, I leave you to prepare your classrooms. The term starts in one week, immediately after breakfast.” She smiled at them all, then strode toward her study.

Miss Huckabee chuckled, then shook her head. “And here we are, the lot of us, standing in her wake. Should we expect any different?”

Mrs. Benoit, who taught French, wore her hair short and spoke with an accent. “This way of thinking, I do not understand. Questions I have, yes, but I am sure they will be answered in due time.”

She stepped toward Stephen and extended her hand. “Jacqueline Benoit. I am widowed and live here in town. I have been teaching for fifteen years and my husband is deceased for five. I have no need for entanglements and always ensure that my students perform at their best.”

He shook the woman’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

In turn, he met each of the other teachers. Miss Webster, at first glance, looked dour but had kind eyes. Her specialty was geography. She, like the French teacher, lived in town. She took care of her elderly mother. Miss Duggan was the spinster daughter of Reverend Duggan, who presided over one of the local churches. She taught Latin as well as manners. Charlotte Huckabee taught grammar to the younger students along with penmanship. She reminded him of his older sister, who had a brood of children and whose husband was a shopkeeper.

They took their leave of him, and at the same time so did the teachers speaking with Miss Parker. Her now-underlings wished her well as they left, one of them giving Stephen a grin that bore a challenge. Clearly, Miss Parker had the advantage after being here for so long.

And now, here was Miss Parker.

“Well,” she said. “I believe this will be an interesting year.”

“I quite agree with you,” he replied.

“I hope and pray that the best teacher wins.” Her eyes held a sparkle he couldn’t miss.

“As do I. I warn you, I don’t like to lose.”

“Neither do I.” She raised her chin ever so slightly. “But as long as the children succeed, it will be worth it to me.”

“I quite agree with you on that as well.”

“So what made you decide to teach here at Wickham Academy? Mrs. Wickham did not mention until now that a new teacher would be joining us.”

“She’s my father’s oldest sister, and this summer she decided she no longer wished to teach mathematics and offered me the position.”

“I see. So I believe you have an advantage, being family.”

“An advantage for what? Winning? We have no idea, yet, how the students will perform.”

“But surely you know that by the end of the school year one of us will be the head of this academy.” Their gazes locked. Her eyes were a curious shade of green with brown flecks at the center.

“I assure you, I had no idea she was going to spring that on me after her offer of employment.”

“I didn’t believe I was a sure thing for the position either. But …” She raised her hands, palms up.

“But you’ve been here longer and probably deserve it more than I do.”

“Probably.” She chuckled. “I’m sorry to laugh. But I want this to be a pleasant year for all of us.”

“As do I.”

“So, Mr. Mason. If I’m to beat you, I should know my adversary. How many years have you been teaching?”

“I have taught for one year.”

She blinked at him, incredulous. “One year. At the school in Cambridge.”

He knew she probably would have added, You’re already on the way to running an academy at the end of your second year of teaching?

“That’s right. I taught upper-level mathematics to the boys preparing to attend college.”

“Oh my. Wickham Academy is very different. We have a handful of young ladies preparing for college, but the majority of your students will most likely be from the younger set, learning their basic sums and such.”

“Yes. Aunt Marjorie informed me as much when we discussed my employment. I think the break from upper-level mathematics will be a welcome change for me. I find that with older students, if they do not have firm building blocks of education and mathematics basics, it is much more difficult for them to achieve the higher level work, particularly if I find myself having to reteach basic principles they should have mastered already.”

“Then I’m sure this position will be very fulfilling for you.”

“And what about you? You said you’ve been teaching for eight years at Wickham.”

“Yes, I’ve truly enjoyed my time teaching both composition and literature to the older students, and art. Fortunately, my students have had Charlotte teaching them their basics, and I can delve into advanced composition and literature. But I find myself looking forward to the possibility of having an administrative role here.”

“Perhaps I should have asked for Miss Huckabee to be on my team.”

“You could have, but she is one of my friends here, and I have her loyalty.” At first he thought her comment was serious but then he caught the twinkle in her eyes.

“It’s good to have loyal friends.” He wished he had a few. He’d burned some bridges along the way, and he suddenly realized that he valued what someone like Miss Parker thought of him. He trusted his aunt’s discretion that nothing would be said of his life before his time teaching at Armstrong Academy.