Earthly Astonishments (3 page)

Josephine nearly stole away back to the kitchen, but a picture in her mind, of Cook wielding the ladle, forced her across the carpet. Miss MacLaren banged her book shut when she found a face peering up at her.

“Whatever do you mean, sneaking at me like that?” One hand pressed against her floral bodice, while the other promptly shielded her treasure from Josephine’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean to sneak. I’m quiet, is all.” The sound of her own husky voice surprised Josephine; she could go days at a time without speaking to anyone.

“Well? What can you possibly want?”

“I want … I want you, please, to pay me. It’s five gold dollars. You promised my pa when you took me in. One gold dollar for each year’s service, you said. Please.”

Miss MacLaren’s plump hand slid down from her bosom and smacked the surface of her desk, making a hollow thump. Her words came out like steam from between closed teeth.

“My arrangement with your parents is no business of yours. A creature like you is lucky to have a corner to sleep in and food each day. I’ll thank you to never again put me in the position of discussing money with a servant.”

She dipped her pen and returned to work, without blinking her stony eyes. Josephine’s ears stung, as if the
unkind words had scalded them. Her feet stumbled over themselves, backing out of the room.

“Excuse me!” Miss MacLaren’s curt bark stopped Josephine in her tracks. “I have not dismissed you. For your impertinence, you will do some copying.”

Josephine tiptoed forward again to receive the pages thrust into her hands.

“Ten duplicates by morning. Take ink and pen from the drawer of the hall table. You may go.”

Josephine trudged back to the kitchen, trembling with anger at her own foolishness. She lit a candle and crouched on her mat, not daring to rest before she had copied the words:

Morning came too soon for Josephine’s backside to have a chance at healing.

“What’s the trouble, Worm?” asked Sylvester, with a sly look. “Having trouble sitting down?”

“Keep out of my way, and I’ll keep out of yours,” threatened Josephine. “Otherways, I’ll make your eyes grow crossed.”

He shot her a look that told her he believed her. His hand flew to his face, as if to protect himself. Josephine laughed to herself all morning, watching him peel potatoes without glancing up. Meanwhile she stayed as far
from Cook as she could manage and still complete her tasks. And tasks there were aplenty.

It was Parents’ Day. The front vestibule was festooned with flags and ribbons, welcoming families from all over New York City, as well as towns beyond its limits. Certain girls would return home next week, it being end-of-term, while others would remain as summer boarders.

Many parents arrived by horse cab, while some families, like Charlotte’s and Emmy’s, had splendid carriages of their own.

The Academy choir lined the walk, wearing their new summer boaters and singing, “Onward Christian Soldiers.”

Josephine spied through the cellar door onto the street, watching the ladies arrive in skirted coats, with gentlemen in silk top hats. They all paused to smile at the chorus of girls before entering the school and being directed toward the dining room.

Josephine wondered briefly where her own parents were today. Certainly not dressed in Sunday clothes, stepping lightly out of horse cabs. Not visiting their only daughter, bearing gifts of books and peppermints. Not thinking about her at all.

“Hey! Worm!” Sylvester yanked her from the doorway. “Time to serve the high and mighty!”

The kitchen had produced delicacies rarely tasted at MacLaren Academy. The traditional Parents’ Day luncheon
was a roasted lamb with parslied potatoes and pitchers of gravy and whole gardens-full of green beans. Josephine wondered if the parents were hearing complaints of the usual fare or whether they believed their own bellies.

As luncheon was cleared away, parents were invited into the classrooms to inspect examples of their daughters’ work. Miss MacLaren hovered at the bottom of the stairway, directing traffic with a beaming countenance.

“Lovely to see you, Mrs. Hicks! I’m sure you’ll find that Felicia’s penmanship has improved this term.

“Mr. St. James! It’s an honor to have you with us today. A busy man like you!

“Mrs. Montgomery, I hope you’ll take a moment to go over the Academy Betterment Fund with me. I know you pride yourself on being a generous contributor.”

The afternoon program included Miss MacLaren’s speech on the importance of discipline in education, as well as a recitation by the lower school of the poem “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Then Josephine could hear the steady intonation of times tables while she laid out the tea things in the visitors’ parlor. She liked this room best in the whole school. It was dim and cozy, and even in summer, there was a fire in the grate, crackling a welcome to company.

The hammering of footsteps on the stairs warned Josephine to hide. Usually the thought of spectators would send her scooting down the hall to seek cover in
the kitchen. But today curiosity burned fiercely. She decided not to scurry away. She would stay and watch the families.

The door flew open to admit a breathless, thirsty throng. Josephine stood on tiptoes, trying not to rattle the cups as she reached up to place them in gilt-trimmed saucers. No one paid her a moment’s attention as they helped themselves to the bounty of cakes.

Miss MacLaren had reminded the girls that this was an opportunity to demonstrate their company manners. The girls, who liked best to scoff and sulk, were curtseying and simpering like society ladies.

Emmy’s mother smoothed her daughter’s hair. Felicia was fussing about her new gloves being too small. Josephine listened to parts of several conversations.

“Oh, Daddy, do you really mean it? May I ask a friend?” Nancy glanced around quickly. “Anne? Do you want to come with us to Mr. Barnum’s two-ring circus on Saturday next?”

Anne clapped in delight, and the two girls retreated to the corner to whisper.

Emmy leaned against her father’s shoulder. “I’m happy you came, Papa.”

He patted her awkwardly.

“Have you heard anything from Margaret?” she asked.

Emmy’s father, balancing his top hat on his knee, looked out the window and shook his head.

“We don’t discuss Margaret, Emmeline. Unless you
wish to break your mother’s heart. Tell us about your studies. How is the French grammar this term?”

“Oh!” cried Emmy suddenly, jumping up. “I’m meant to be passing biscuits!” She seized a plate of gingersnaps from the table and offered it, trembling, to her parents.

Josephine smiled to herself. Poor Emmy was a cabbage head when it came to French verbs.

“I was particularly impressed with the needlework,” Emmy’s mother said to her husband. “I had no idea that Emmy was making such progress in her embroidery.”

“Oh, that name card was a mistake, Mama,” Emmy interrupted. “None of us can sew worth a penny. It’s the serving girl who made all those samplers. She’s ever so clever. She did the calligraphy too. On the proverbs—Ow!” Emmy’s voice ended in a whimper. Nancy had pinched her.

“Nancy! Why did you—”

“Shut your stupid mouth, you fat squirrel!” Nancy hissed at her.

In the silence that followed, Josephine could hear her own heart stop dead. She’d stayed awake until after midnight making display copies for Parents’ Day.

Josephine quivered, agreeing with Nancy, for once. Oh, please, Emmy, don’t say another word!

Miss MacLaren was unaware, until Nancy’s pinch, that anything was amiss. Now she swooped down, like a hungry hawk.

“Girls?” The frost in her voice might have iced the tea. “Whatever can have prompted this display?”

Josephine held her breath.

“Nancy? Emmeline? I’m speaking to you.”

“I thought Nancy pinched me,” Emmy sulked. “But I guess it was an accident.” She rubbed her arm, not trying to hide her pout.

Josephine hated to see Nancy’s smirk, though it reflected her own relief.

“I was only saying, Miss MacLaren”—oh, no, Emmy!—“that there has been a mistake. The sewing samplers and the proverbs all have the wrong names.” Emmy spoke quickly, as if trying to get it all out without further interruption.

“It was the little serving girl who made them all. None of us could do it half so well. Look, there she is! See, by the table. It’s her you should compliment, Mama!”

And Emmy didn’t stop there! Josephine did her best to shrink into the draperies, but Emmy came over! And stood there beaming, pointing down at her! Josephine yearned to shrink away completely. Instead, she was the center of attention for the circle of gaping parents and mortified girls.

Miss MacLaren had other plans than congratulations for Josephine.

“Is that the story she’s been telling you?” The headmistress sniffed in contempt. “Our little charity case has a lingering problem with the truth,” she announced to the audience. “Don’t you?” She turned her furious eyes on Josephine. She leaned over to reach Josephine’s arm, which she squeezed between her meaty fingers.

“You are excused from the room. We do not wish to see you again.”

The seven steps to the parlor door seemed to take seven minutes. Once outside, Josephine leaned against the wall, taking in gulps of air. “She does not wish to see me again?” Josephine clenched her fists to strengthen her resolve. “Well, then, I’ll run away is all!” She found herself nearly skipping down the corridor. “She will never see me again.”

osephine feared that Miss MacLaren might send for her, might devise a punishment that would slow her departure. But she was soon forgotten. Josephine waited in the linens cupboard until the visitors were gone and the girls were shepherded to bed.

She dozed briefly, on the stack of wool blankets recently removed from the dormitory beds. She was awakened by the chiming of a clock, but not soon enough to count the bells.

The school was dark and quiet—nearly quiet. There were always creaking boards and window cracks with wind whispering through.

Josephine wasted no more time. She went directly to Miss MacLaren’s study and straight to the desk. Where was the money? Where did Miss MacLaren put her little towers of coins when she’d finished counting? The drawers were firmly locked.

Josephine remembered last night’s visit and the open prayer stool near Miss MacLaren’s feet. And sure enough, the embroidered knee rest lifted easily, revealing a lisle stocking nestled within. It clinked faintly when Josephine lifted it out.

She grinned as she poured the contents onto the carpet of cabbage roses. So much money! Gold eagles and half eagles and gold dollars, all chinking and clattering like a rickety music box playing a beloved song. Josephine sorted them by value, tracing the Indian heads on the dollars with loving fingertips.

“If a nasty woman with squishy arms has twenty-six gold dollars hidden in a stocking,” murmured Josephine, “and she pays a long-owed debt to a loyal worker, how many gold dollars does she have left?”

Josephine took one dollar for each of the nearly five years she had lived at MacLaren Academy. She carefully returned the others to their hiding place.

Josephine closed her fists around the small coins and poked her head past the door frame, peering into the unlit corridor. She heard a small gasp and turned her head. Her nose met the nightdress of Emmy St. James.

Had she stood there long enough to see Josephine take
the gold dollars? Josephine waited in silence, clutching her treasure. Emmy seemed to be waiting too, observing Josephine with real attention.

“I was looking for you,” Emmy whispered. Her hair, brushed out for bedtime, hung past her waist. “I hate this house at night. It’s always creaking and moaning. What were you doing in Miss MacLaren’s study?” When she squinted, her cheeks were very round.

“I … I … thought I heard a noise. May I go now, Miss?”

“I was looking for you. I had to tell you how very, awfully sorry I am. What’s your name anyway?” Emmy asked. “The others just call you … Well, never mind. What’s your name?”