Emma answered the relentless pounding on the front door, but her timid welcome was cut short as a howl of anger reverberated through the building.
“Where is Mrs. Thurston? Get her! Bring her to me!”
“Sir, calm yourself!” came Mrs. Thurston’s plea from farther down the hall.
“You fool! You stupid, careless fool! How could you let this happen? You…you imbecile!” the man bellowed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Biltmore, please accept my—” But before Mrs. Thurston could tender her sympathy, a woman’s keening interrupted.
“They won’t let me see her!” the woman sobbed. “I want to hold her—but they turned us away.”
My gut twisted into a knot as Selina’s parents poured out their misery. What if I lost my Ned? My dear, sweet son? I fought to hold tight to my senses, but my body tasted the bitter herb of grief. A teeth-rattling chill swept through me.
Waverly shook his head and sighed. A deep frown creased his forehead as his whole face closed down. Behind his spectacles, his eyes grew narrow and flinty.
“You are excused, Mrs. Rochester. Or Miss Eyre. As you prefer. We are done here. For now.”
I slipped out of the superintendent’s office and ran up the stairs, stopping briefly at the first landing, trying not to call attention to myself. Waverly had come out of Mrs. Thurston’s office to introduce himself to the Biltmores.
“Mr. and Mrs. Biltmore, may I tender my deepest condolences? I am here at your service,” he said before bowing deeply. “I am sorry to bother you, but we have much to discuss.”
“This has ruined everything! He will be furious!” yelled Mr. Biltmore. “And you, you are complicit as well. Bringing her here was your idea.”
This last salvo was directed at his wife, who continued to cry only harder.
“Really, sir,” Mrs. Thurston said.
“Do you have any idea what has happened here? Tell her, Waverly!”
“This matter demands privacy,” said Waverly. “Come. We can talk behind closed doors.”
Waverly escorted Mr. and Mrs. Biltmore into Mrs. Thurston’s office. The superintendent brought up the rear, sniveling loudly into a soiled handkerchief.
“Where is Caje? Where is he?” Mr. Biltmore asked. “I shall tear him apart with my bare hands! He was supposed to watch after her!”
Then the door closed with a bang.
The exchange struck me as exceedingly odd, but this was not the time to stop and ponder it.
“Laboro, laboras, laborat.” Miss Jones droned her way through the forms of the Latin verb.
The students’ heads cocked with attentiveness as they tried to make sense of the shouts from the ground floor. But they turned as one when they heard my footsteps, and their faces cheered at the sight of me, although they wore a sense of confusion like a heavy blanket tossed over their small frames.
Miss Jones continued her recitation in a voice as steady and measured as a clock hand. Evidently she had powers of concentration that exceeded mine, because she continued on about Latin verb formations as if nothing amiss or unusual had happened in the hallway one story below.
But she must have heard the commotion! Or the upset it caused!
A wet trail of tears streaked Nettie’s face. Rufina was digging at a spot on her knee. Rose twirled a strand of hair as fast as the spinning of a dragonfly’s wings. And Adèle’s pale skin took on the unwholesome pallor of chalk.
“Come with me, Seniors.” I gestured toward the secondary classroom. “Thank you, Miss Jones, for attending to my young ladies while I was detained.”
“But of course.” She nodded.
My students seemed rooted to the spot and stood there looking dazed and confused. Instead of chastising them, I reached out and took Adèle by the hand. In return, she took Nettie’s hand, who took Rose’s, who in turn grabbed Rufina by the fingers. Thus our human chain moved to the far end of the second classroom. They waited as I slid the divider in place and latched the partition closed. “Sit down, girls. Let us chat for a moment.” Any notion we could get to work right away was absurd. Instead, I chose to address the commotion they had heard.
“Come, sit close to me,” I said, directing my charges to bunch up while I took a spot in the middle. “I am here. Do not be frightened.”
“That man who was yelling,” Rose said, “he must be Selina’s papa.”
“And her mama is here, too. I remember the day they brought her. She came in a big black coach pulled by twin bays.” Rufina sighed. “The horses were lovely. I wanted to pat them.”
“It is natural for her parents to grieve, girls. They have lost a child they love.”
Nettie’s lower lip quivered. “Lucky Selina.”
“Pardon?” Nettie didn’t seem the kind of child who would either employ or understand sarcasm.
“Her papa loves her. He is awful broken up about her being gone. I wish my papa cared as much for me. He does not want me around. Mama does not, either. Not since my little brother came. They only care for him because he’s got hair.”
I believe she meant that her parents were pleased because the boy was an “heir,” but this was definitely the wrong time to discuss homophones.
I pulled Nettie close to me. “It might seem that way, but I am sure they love you very much. And you have a Father in heaven who loves you. All of you. Remember that, won’t you? Now, would you show me your drawings, please?”
Their work ranged from accomplished (Rufina) to disastrous (Adèle). After a quick glance at the sketches, I said, “I want each of you to write a paragraph for me in German. The topic is Selina. I find it helpful, sometimes, to put my thoughts and feelings on paper. I think you will, too. Please get started.”
The girls bent over their projects, letting the noise of pencils rubbing against paper fill the quiet spaces between us. As they worked, I roughed out a sketch of my assailant at the coaching inn. Thus our faculties were occupied until the commotion of voices and footsteps told us the Biltmores and Mr. Waverly were leaving.
My students barely registered the departure. They kept at their work until the bell rang for dinner. The girls fell into line behind Rufina, who led us downstairs.
What did Mr. Biltmore mean when he said, “This has ruined everything”? And when he singled out Caje? I vowed to press Miss Miller for answers about this and about the marks on Nettie’s back.
However, when we arrived in the dining room, Nan Miller’s chair again sat empty, as did Mrs. Thurston’s. Miss Jones led us in saying our prayers over the food.
After our meal, the girls worked on their needle arts. Once they seemed occupied, I took a seat very close to Miss Jones and whispered, “May I speak to you in private?”
We moved to a corner of the room. “Is harsh punishment allowed here?”
She almost laughed. “Good heavens! Only if you think copying Bible verses is harsh. Why do you ask? Does one of the students vex you?”
“No. This morning when they were dressing I noticed scars on one of the girls’ backs. I have no experience to judge these things, but they looked to me like caning marks.”
“Indeed!” Her eyebrows shot straight up. “Then she must have been disciplined at home, because neither Mrs. Webster nor Mrs. Thurston would ever allow such a thing here. I believe the worst punishment ever meted out has been sending Adèle to bed without her supper.”
I nodded, wondering if that were truly the case. Miss Jones leaned over and said, “One of the girls showed me the assignment you gave them, sketching the robin. I long to improve my artistic abilities. Would you critique some of my work?”
“With pleasure,” I said. For the rest of the session, we viewed her portfolio. She had a good eye for color, but her technique needed refinement. I made a few suggestions, which she seemed to take to heart.
I admit, however, that it was difficult to focus. My eyes strayed to the door, expecting to see Miss Miller return at any moment. I rehearsed the suspicions I harbored, recalling that she had not elaborated on her life during that time when we lost contact.
“Circumstances changed,” she had said. A neat sidestep.
Was there a portion of her history that bore relevance to the situation at hand?
Was my old friend a murderer?
ROSE’S ESSAY
Selina was my friend. She told me secrets. She said we were both beautiful, but that I was not nearly as lovely as she, and everyone took notice of her. She took my sash because she liked it and it looked well on one of her new dresses. She did not like school or teachers. She said this is a waste of time and youth. I will miss her, but I do not want her to come back and visit because she’s dead.
NETTIE’S ESSAY
Our friend Selina is dead. I pray that God takes her to heaven. I will pray for her tonight. She liked sweets. I wish I had shared my sweets with her. She said she was special and [this was smeared] loved her. He would send carriages for her.
RUFINA’S ESSAY
Selina was mean especially to the little ones. Once she pushed Rose’s face into the water basin. I did not like Selina. She said no one would ever fall in love with me because I am ugly. That made me cry. I don’t care if she is our next Queen, I hated her.
ADÈLE’S ESSAY
I won’t miss Selina. She was stupid like a cow. Now she will rot.