California Romance (25 page)

I didn’t say I
was
Spanish, God
, she said, salving her conscience.
Only that they could call me senorita. Besides, what if I were Spanish? Solita and my Mexican friends are worth far more than this bunch of East Coast ninnies. What am I doing here, anyway?

In the days that followed, Dori asked herself the same question over and over. She hated the regimentation and ached for wide open spaces. She despised the gray dresses and white pinafores Miss Brookings’s “young ladies” were forced to wear. “Life is worse than the stories Captain Perry Mace used to tell about the discipline of military life,” she often told herself.

Too proud to admit defeat and go home like a frightened calf bawling for its mother, Dori decided to seek revenge. One look at Miss Used-to-Having-Her-Own-Way van Dyke, on whom Miss Brookings openly fawned, and Dori determined to oust “dear Gretchen” from first place in the academic standings. Thanks to an excellent teacher in Madera and Matt’s insistence that his sister always do her best, Dori was well prepared to carry out her plan.

The first marking period established a running competition between the girls. Dori edged Gretchen into second place in every class except deportment.

“Why should I be penalized for breaking rules that make no sense?” Dori complained to Scraggs. “Why am I forbidden to climb out my window and down the ivy on starlit nights? I hate being cooped up, and I’m not hurting anyone.” She scowled. “Janey overheard Gretchen—the sneak—report me. Tale bearing is far worse than what I do.”

Scraggs looked sympathetic. “It is to you…or to me,” he whispered, “but what we think doesn’t count. Gossip has it that Miss Gretchen is Miss Brookings’s pet student. She hasn’t forgiven you for being in ‘her’ room, you know. I hear things.” His smile made Dori wonder why she had ever considered him gloomy.

Scraggs glanced around the hall as if fearful of being overheard. “Mr. van Dyke’s coffers are very well filled, you know.” He patted Dori’s shoulder. “Don’t fret about it. I understand your…uh…pranks are winning admiration from some of the other young ladies.” His posture remained as rigid as ever, but a telltale gleam in his pale eyes betrayed his approval. “Of course, Misses Brookings and van Dyke can’t have that.”

Dori felt a bit better until she was called on the carpet again the next day.

The Babbling Brook wore her wrinkled-prune face. “Why must you be so impertinent?” she demanded. “Miss Allison says you openly challenged her authority.”

Dori’s lips tightened. “Anyone who states that ‘the wild West is filled with uncouth persons and is not a fit place to live’ needs challenging. Besides, I only quoted Exodus 20:16: ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.’ I could have said that westerners are at least polite enough to keep quiet about people and places they have never seen and know absolutely nothing about.”

The woman’s face turned purple. “What do you mean?”

Dori clenched her hands into fists. “Yesterday Miss Allison said I was fortunate to have escaped the Indian massacres by coming here. I had to set her straight. It’s been years since any California Indians went on the warpath.”

The headmistress made a strangling sound and waved toward the door. “You may go, but if you feel the need to correct an instructor from now on, do it privately and respectfully.”

“I
was
respectful.” Resentment shot through Dori. “I thought Brookside Finishing School for Young Ladies wanted its students to know the truth, not lies. It says so right in our list of rules. ‘The Bible is the great rule of duty for both teachers and scholars. Truth and virtue, Christian kindness and courtesy will be the governing principle of conduct to all the members of this school.’ Am I wrong? Or don’t the teachers practice what the rule preaches?”

“Go!” Miss Brookings thundered.

Dori flounced out—and received another failing mark in deportment.

A
n unexpected holiday offered Dori temporary respite from her troubles. Filled with anticipation instead of dread, she bounded out of bed on the Friday set aside to honor the settling of Boston: September 17, 1880, the city’s 250th birthday celebration.

Dori had written to Matt as little as possible, for fear he would know how miserable she was. How could she tell him her only real friends were the butler and a maid?

“Scraggs doesn’t dare show he likes me for fear of losing his position. Janey works so hard she seldom has time for fun,” Dori lamented. “Well, now at least I’ll have something interesting to write about. It’s too bad Matt can’t be here. He’d like it, I know.” A pang went through her, but she shook off regret and determined to make the most of the holiday.

Dori had never seen such a spectacle. Chaperoned by teachers and forced to remain with the other girls, she stared open-mouthed as 14,500 people marched four and a half miles, amidst a multitude of decorations. The march took three and a half hours. Several of the Brookside young ladies grew tired and went back to the school, but Dori couldn’t bear to miss anything. Fortunately, one of the teachers displayed equal enthusiasm, and Miss Brookings allowed Dori to remain in her charge.

That evening sixteen floats and a thousand torchbearers paraded, illuminating the streets of the city. Dori fell asleep with a happy heart for the first time since she had arrived in Boston. The next day she wrote to Matt and Solita:

By the grace of God and sheer willpower, Dori stayed in school. As time passed, she noticed that her independent attitude was winning grudging respect. Her teachers seldom challenged her. Some of her more daring classmates showed signs of having backbone and standing up to queen bee Gretchen van Dyke. A few tentatively offered friendship. Dori suspected this enraged Miss Brookings, but she also knew Matt continued to send generous contributions to offset his sister’s shenanigans. Why worry? Nothing she did hurt anyone or anything—except her deportment mark.

Dori got a great deal of secret amusement from observing how Gretchen ignored her. Gretchen and her hangers-on swept by the “Spanish senorita” as if Dori didn’t exist. But after she bested Gretchen for still another marking period, Gretchen accosted her in the upper hall, backed up by Harriet and a few other girls.

“I’ve had as much as I am going to take from you, Dolores Sterling,” she spat out. Her pale eyebrows arched over her washed-out blue eyes until she resembled an angry cat with its back up. “You think you’re so smart. Well, you aren’t. The only way you could ever get better marks than I is by cheating.”

The unfair accusation left Dori speechless, but only for a moment. Rage started at her toes and engulfed her body. She clenched her fists and took a menacing step closer to her accuser. “I have never cheated in my whole life, Miss van Dyke. I don’t have to cheat to be first in my studies with you as competition.” She stopped for breath then added, “Stop your whining.”

Gretchen fell back, face paper white. “Miss Brookings will hear about your impertinence.”

“I’m sure she will.” Dori spun on one heel, pushed open the door to her room, and whirled back toward the group of cowering young ladies. “Just be sure when you run bleating to Miss Brookings that you tell her who started this. If you don’t, I will.” She shriveled the other girls with a lightning glance. “There must be a least
one
person here who won’t lie for you.” She entered her room and slammed the door behind her.

To Dori’s amazement, Miss Brookings said nothing about the confrontation. Had Gretchen’s followers convinced her it wouldn’t be wise to report it? Perhaps. But the ill-concealed enmity in Gretchen’s face showed she was lying in wait like a cougar stalking a fawn, ready to strike when the opportunity arose.

In late November, Dori made the hardest decision of her life, so startling she felt it necessary to justify it to Matt, to herself, and to God.

“If I go home for the holidays or for summer vacations, I will never come back. I won’t be able to tear myself away from home,” she told the Lord. “The only way to finish what I started is to stay put.”

She agonized over what to say in her letter, but finally settled on writing:

Dori was forced to copy her letter three times. If Matt saw a tear-splotched edition, he would order her home posthaste.

Dori remained adamant in her decision, in spite of Matt’s continued protests. She dug in her heels and made it through two seemingly endless years, hating the freezing winters and longing for Madera’s mild climate.

Propped up in bed one late fall day in 1882, she mused, “I can last one more school year. After spring term, I’ll leave Boston to Miss Brookings and the van Dykes and their ilk.” A familiar feeling of jealousy that had been nagging her for months dimmed her expectations for going home. Dori sighed. “I don’t feel I’ve changed, but things won’t be the same on the Diamond S.”

She punched her pillows into a more comfortable position. “It’s bad enough that for the past two years Matt’s letters have been filled with praise for that…that Seth Anderson. Matt acts like the dumb cowhand is a long-lost brother and not simply hired help.” She blew out a breath. “I suppose it’s because Matt saved his life.” Dori slid out of bed and crossed to the window. “Worse, now Matt’s crazy about Seth’s sister. According to his letters, Sarah is one in a million and ‘a paragon of virtue.’ ”

Dori viciously dug the toe of her slipper into the carpet. “I want Matt to myself when I get home, not dancing attendance on some girl who sounds too good to be true.” She raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Of course I’m sorry for what Sarah’s stepfather put her through, God, but what if she’s after Matt because he owns the largest spread in the valley? What if she breaks his heart the way Lydia Hensley did?”

Dori chilled. Had she made a terrible mistake by staying in Boston so long? Had Matt turned to the Andersons for the companionship he and Dori used to share?

She knelt beside the window and bowed her head. “I need to know what to do, God. Should I chuck school and go home?” The idea caught fire until she was ready to pack her clothes and take the first train west. “Lord, if I were home, I could halt any schemes Seth and Sarah Anderson may have to worm themselves into Matt’s life and the Diamond S.”

Late fall, 1882
San Joaquin Valley

S
eth Anderson stamped into the living room of the Diamond S ranch house. “Here’s the mail, Boss. Curly just got back from Madera.” He tossed the bundle to Matt, who was sprawled in a comfortable chair, staring at Seth’s sister, Sarah. Light from the blazing logs in the fireplace turned her hair to glistening gold and brought the colors of the gorgeous Mexican wall tapestries alive.

Seth hunkered down in front of the huge rock fireplace and grinned.
Looks like one of these days I’m gonna have me a brother-in-law
. He glanced at their beloved housekeeper, who gave him a knowing smile.
I bet Solita thinks the same thing
.

“Thanks, Seth.” Matt riffled through the mail and looked disappointed. “Nothing from Dori.” He frowned. “Another letter from the Brookside headmistress though. Wonder what my dear sister has been up to this time? And how much it’s going to cost me to keep her in school.”