Week 8, Instructor Calendar
March/April 1898
Concordia returned to Willow Cottage, where a flurry of packing was underway.
“Don’t take too much,” Concordia warned, as she caught sight of one girl lugging two suitcases from the storeroom, “it’s only a week, after all.”
“Ooh, but Miss Wells,” she said excitedly, “I’ve been invited to Miss Smedley’s country house! I’ll need my best dresses, and Mabel has promised to lend me her riding outfit, and—”
“Have a wonderful time,” Concordia said, cutting across what promised to be a lengthy description of the young lady’s wardrobe necessities. “Have you seen Ruby?”
“In her room, packing.”
“Packing?” Ruby never left for the spring recess.
Concordia went down the hall to the bedroom behind the kitchen and knocked.
“Ruby?”
“Come on in, miss,” Ruby called. “I’m jes’ finishing up.”
Concordia pushed open the door. “Where are you going?”
“To my sister’s, in New Haven,” Ruby said, struggling with a suitcase buckle. “Well, you needn’t look so surprised,” she added tartly, noting Concordia’s raised eyebrow. “I got family, and like to take a vacation as much as the rest o’ you.”
“Of course,” Concordia said hastily, “I’m only surprised. You didn’t say anything about it before.”
“I didn’t know I needed your ’pproval,” Ruby muttered under her breath.
Concordia took a step back, confused. She’d known Ruby for several years now, and thought she’d seen all of her moods. But this sulky defensiveness had never been one of them. What was going on?
Judging from the set of the woman’s jaw, pressing her now wasn’t going to get an answer.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Have a good visit,” Concordia said hesitantly, and closed the door behind her.
Concordia clambered around several luggage-laden students in the hallway—why did the girls feel compelled to pack all of their worldly belongings for an eight-day visit home? Her own rooms were probably the safest place away from the hubbub. She dearly needed a cup of tea, and time alone to think.
She stopped short when she saw Maisie Lovelace walk through the front door. One glance at the girl’s tear-streaked face told Concordia that the interview with President Langdon had not gone well. She went over to her, putting her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Let’s go to my rooms where we can talk.”
Miss Lovelace sagged into a chair and put her face in her hands as Concordia closed the door. “We’ve been ex-expelled,” she moaned.
Concordia had feared as much. President Langdon, though not generally a strict disciplinarian, was understandably distressed about his brand-new buggy being stuck in Bursar Isley’s office for the last ten days. Then there was the newspaper publicity, too.
“I take it he was quite angry,” Concordia said.
Miss Lovelace nodded. “The dean and bursar came in when they heard Mr. Langdon shouting, and that just made things worse. It was Dean Maynard and Bursar Isley who insisted that we be expelled. We are to remove the buggy during spring recess, and then leave. For...for good.”
It was unfortunate, Concordia thought, that the other two administrators had intervened. Langdon might not have taken such strict action if he’d had the solitude to consider his own penalty. Even a suspension for the rest of the semester would have been preferable.
She passed the girl her handkerchief. “Take a moment to compose yourself, then we’ll talk about what we can do.”
Concordia took a deep breath and knocked on Langdon’s door.
“Enter!”
She poked her head in. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course.” Langdon stood and gestured to the chair beside his desk.
Concordia took a deep breath for courage. She’d known President Langdon since she had started teaching at Hartford Women’s College, back when he was dean. She’d always found him to be fair-minded. Although the man harbored many of the old ideas about women and what their role in society should be, he was dedicated to the college’s mission to provide the young ladies with the best education possible.
Concordia got right to the point. “Mr. Langdon, I want to speak with you about Miss Lovelace and her friends, who are on the verge of being expelled.”
Langdon’s brow furrowed, and his usually amiable expression took on a scowl. “Are you here to plead on their behalf? You’re wasting your time.”
Concordia held up a hand. “What they did was certainly disruptive and ill-considered, but can you hear me out?”
President Langdon gave Concordia a long, silent look. Finally, he sighed in resignation and sat back in his chair. “If it were anyone but you, Concordia, I would not. But I do respect your opinion, and I know you’re not easily influenced by sentimentality. Perhaps you can help me at least understand why in blazes they decided to do such a thing.”
She nodded. “That is the very issue. This wasn’t some high-spirited prank, done in malice or to show off to their peers. They had an earnest motive behind it.”
Langdon waved a dismissive hand. “You mean the engineering program? The girls have already explained their reasons. It makes no sense to me, and I certainly cannot condone such behavior. If anything, these young ladies have already acted in a distinctly unwomanly fashion. A course of study like engineering, suited to men, would exacerbate the problem, not solve it.”
Concordia clenched her teeth. She needed all of the patience she could muster. It certainly would not do to fly off the handle when faced with this all-too-common misconception about a woman’s “nature.”
“Sir,” Concordia began, “the act that you call unwomanly is merely the attempt on the part of these girls to prove that they are capable of the mechanical complexity called for in an engineering program. Granted, the demonstration was flamboyant, designed to draw attention to the issue, but you said yourself that not even the local mechanic wants to attempt dismantling and reassembling the vehicle because of the risk of damage to it. Doesn’t that speak to extraordinary skill, that these young ladies were able to do so?”
Langdon regarded her with a skeptical eye.
“Do you deny that they have exceptional ability?” Concordia persisted. She knew Edward Langdon would not allow bias to interfere with the evidence of his own eyes.
Langdon’s expression softened. “Just between us, I was astounded when each girl described her role in the process; what tools they knew to borrow and use, how they had taught themselves to do certain things. Yes, Concordia, they certainly have skill; talent, even. However—”
Concordia jumped in. “God-given talent?”
Langdon hesitated. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“So, let us suppose, in the hypothetical,” Concordia went on, “that a different talent bestowed by Providence was at issue. Suppose one of these girls had an extraordinary singing voice. What would you do—redirect her into another area of study for which she was ill-suited, forever muting her beautiful voice? Would you forbid her to use and develop her talent because of her sex?”
Langdon was quiet.
“The President Langdon whom I have come to know,” Concordia said softly, “would want her to take singing lessons with the best teacher available, and he would attend her performances as her most avid supporter. The Edward Langdon I know believes deeply in the education of young women, and wants them to reach their full potential.” Concordia let out a deep breath, and sat back in her chair, gloved hands folded in her lap.
Langdon rubbed a hand across his beard, lost in thought. Concordia waited.
“At least we know where you belong, my dear,” Langdon said. “Right here, teaching and supporting these girls. They are lucky to have you.”
Concordia blushed and smoothed her skirts.
“Although I cannot refute your logic, I see two issues,” he went on. “There’s the disciplinary action for a prank of this kind—although I cannot say there has ever been a prank quite of this kind before—and then, there’s the original problem that the girls were reacting to: the lack of an engineering program.”
Concordia’s eyes lit up. “So you’re not going to expel them?”
Langdon threw up his hands in surrender. “Why waste such ability? But we need to direct these young ladies along more productive pursuits. We certainly cannot have them disassembling and reassembling other school machinery when they are disgruntled.”
Concordia suppressed a shudder. Heaven knows what the girls would have resorted to next.
“You never brought the certificate program before the board of trustees?” she asked.
“No, I did not,” Langdon said. “Bursar Isley was vehemently opposed to the expense. You know how, umm...frugal...our bursar can be. Without the support of the entire administration, it was doomed to fail. Besides, there is a great deal of skepticism regarding such a program to begin with. It’s never been done at a women’s college before, you see.”
Concordia did indeed see. “I have an idea. Perhaps we can take care of both issues in a single stroke.”
Langdon propped his elbows on the desk. “I’m listening.”
“Obviously, the first step is to have the young ladies disassemble your buggy, remove it from Mr. Isley’s office, and restore it, correct?”
Langdon nodded.
“Well, then, why not make an event out of it?” Concordia continued. “The incident has already been made public, anyway. Call in that newspaper reporter—” Langdon winced “—and the engineering students from the local colleges, and have the girls show everyone how they worked the process. It would have to be after we’re back from spring recess, of course, so you’d have to wait a bit longer for use of your vehicle. But the publicity may make others more aware of what talent we have here, and sow the seeds for the engineering program, which you can present to the board next year.”
“But that doesn’t seem sufficient punishment for the young ladies involved,” Langdon objected. “They cannot just seize upon valuable property that doesn’t belong to them, and use it for their own purposes.”
“Ah, but that isn’t all,” Concordia said. “And I think the next part will please Mr. Isley in particular.” Bless his penny-pinching heart, she added silently. “You can place the girls on restriction for the rest of the semester, where in their free time they are put to work fixing various mechanical problems that have arisen at the school. Door latches, sticking windows, broken pulleys on window-blinds, things like that. We never want for those sorts of annoyances. Of course, you’ll want someone knowledgeable in such things to supervise them and help if there are any difficulties. Perhaps the custodian?”
Langdon’s smile was growing wider by the minute. “I’m beginning to see the appeal of your plan.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “And by putting these girls to work on such projects, we can see if they are truly dedicated and suited for such tasks.”
“No doubt they will learn a great deal, too,” Concordia pointed out. “It’s certainly not the certificate program that they wanted, but they’ll be getting a lot of hands-on practice.”
“It may even prove to be useful if we go to the board next year about the program,” Langdon mused.
“So you’ll do it?” Concordia asked.
He nodded. “I suppose I can wait another week to have my buggy back. At least Isley won’t be in need of his office during the recess.” He stood, as did Concordia. “Tell the young ladies to be prepared for a great deal of work when they return.”
Concordia grinned, and hurried back to share the good news with the girls.
By the end of the following day, the campus was nearly deserted. The students and most of the teachers had gone. Even Miss Hamilton was nowhere to be found. Concordia wondered if she had learned anything at the train station yesterday.
The cottage was strangely quiet as she finished grading examinations. She knew she would have no time to work once she visited her mother tomorrow. The rest of the week was sure to be a whirlwind of outings, shopping, and social calls. But the visit would be as good a time as any to share the news of her engagement.
Concordia puckered her brow, wondering how to tell her mother that the engagement was to be kept secret for now. Would Mother accede to that request? Or would she haul Concordia around town, shopping for a trousseau?
That would not do. She would have to be very firm.
A knock at the door roused her.
“This is a surprise!” Concordia exclaimed, opening the door to Lieutenant Capshaw.
“Hello, miss.” Although the shadows of sleepless nights smudged his eyes—worry about Eli’s long absence was surely taking its toll—Capshaw greeted her with a half-smile.
She led him to the parlor. “Please, sit down. You have news?”
Capshaw crouched gingerly upon a low rocking chair, his long legs bent nearly double. “Indeed, yes. I just received a telegram from Miss Hamilton. She was writing in haste, and asked me to inform you as well. Her interview with the conductor has given her the lead she needed. She’s picked up Eli’s trail.”
“Wonderful!” Concordia exclaimed.
“But you’re not going to like the rest of it,” Capshaw said, in his usual melancholy tone. “Eli spent time in the Cranston town jail for sneaking aboard the train bound for Hartford.”
Concordia clenched her hands together. “They put a child in jail?”
“It was the day after Florence’s murder,” Capshaw explained, his jaw rigid. “He was released three days later, into the care of a reformatory school matron, but he slipped away from her. Miss Hamilton is trying to trace his whereabouts since then.”
“Wait,” Concordia said. “How did Eli come to be boarding a train to Hartford? From where? And why Cranston, Rhode Island?”
“The train originated in Providence. The boy was caught between there and Cranston.”
“And Miss Hamilton thinks he’s been following Florence Willoughby’s killer,” Concordia said. Her stomach twisted in worry. Where was Eli now? It would have been several weeks since the boy’s release from jail. Why hadn’t he returned?
Capshaw ran a hand through his hair. “I am sorely tempted to join Miss Hamilton in the hunt, and risk losing my position,” he said. “Why didn’t Eli send word?”
The pained look on Capshaw’s face spoke volumes about the agony of a parent who cannot do anything but sit back and wait.
“I assume Miss Hamilton is checking with the doctors in the town, in case the boy was injured?” Concordia asked.
Capshaw nodded. “I have to say, my respect for Miss Hamilton has grown considerably. She’s a very thorough investigator.”
Indeed she was. Concordia smiled.
“But that’s not the only reason for my visit,” Capshaw said. “I need to speak to Ruby.”
Concordia raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t talked with her yet?” It had been weeks since Capshaw had begun his investigation of the mysterious man on campus.
Capshaw frowned. “I’ve rescheduled our meeting twice, after she sent me messages with some excuse or other as to why it was inconvenient. It seemed prudent to simply show up to talk with her.”
Concordia shook her head. Something was wrong here. Why was Ruby acting so strangely? “Ruby left for vacation yesterday. She won’t be back until the end of the week.”
Capshaw’s frown deepened into a scowl. “She’s deliberately avoiding me.”
Concordia nodded. “Reluctantly, I’d have to agree. But why?”
“I can think of only one explanation, miss. Ruby knows this man. And she’s protecting him.”