The Revenant (11 page)

With no one to talk to, my sense of being an outsider soon became oppressive. I’d been introduced to all the teachers at the male seminary, as well as the superintendent and his wife. They were polite and friendly without exception, but seemed less interested in me upon learning I was not Cherokee. There was much talk at the table of a former Massachusetts senator named Dawes and his ideas about allotment, most of which went over my head because I could find nothing interesting in it. I spent the greater part of supper staring at my plate and doing my best not to crash my cutlery into the delicate china.

Once the meal was over and the tables in the parlor cleared away, I hoped to have a chance to breathe comfortably again. Olivia and I warmed ourselves by the fireplace while the adults and students mingled throughout the parlor. I contemplated the portrait hanging above the mantel, that of a young girl who looked much like Fannie, only a little kinder, and a little less vibrant.

I turned to Olivia. “Is that Fannie’s sister? The one who died?”

“Yes, that’s Sarah.”

“Did you know her?”

“We were in the same year. She was very different from Fannie.” She sighed. “We all envied her when we learned she was to marry the doctor.”

“Did all the girls have a pash for him?”

“Oh yes. And still do, of course.”

Olivia was called away by a student, so I wandered out into the center hall on my own. To the right of the dining room was the library—my favorite room of any house. Walking past the group of girls clustered by the staircase, I paused at the doorway. The dying fire left the room a little chilly, and thus it was empty.

This library was much grander than my papa’s, but still had that comforting odor of books and pipe tobacco that had soothed me back home when Papa was alive. I walked along the shelves, letting my fingers trail across the spines of books about history, politics, and agriculture. There was little fiction to be found, and what I did see was of an “improving” nature. There was no Shakespeare. Perhaps this explained something about Fannie and Larkin.

I did find a book on the Cherokee language and syllabary, which I pulled from the shelf to page through. The letters of the alphabet were foreign and familiar at the same time, many of the shapes similar to those of the English alphabet but adorned with curious curves and curlicues. Some of the shapes looked more like Greek than English. Was this a language taught at the seminary? Did the students write or speak Cherokee in any of their classes? I’d never heard of it if they did.

I was so wrapped up in sounding out the syllables in my head that I did not hear him enter.

“Is Sequoyah’s book really that much more fascinating than the party?”

Eli Sevenstar leaned against the doorframe, glass in hand and a lazy smile on his lips. Heat instantly came to my cheeks, and I clutched the book in both hands to keep from dropping it. Taking a breath to cool down, I returned the book to the shelf before turning to face him again.

“I didn’t know you were here tonight, Mr. Sevenstar. I did not see you before.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving a piece standing on end. “I stayed here last night with Larkin and was a little late coming down.” His smile widened. “Why? Were you looking for me?”

“Of course not! I just …”

“I ask because … I’ve been looking for
you.
”

The cursed heat was flushing my neck and cheeks again. When did the room grow so warm? And why did my fingers ache with the longing to smooth his hair back down? It was much easier when all I wanted was to kick him.

I lifted my chin, playing the cool lady. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

“Not really. I just like talking to you. Especially when you’re not surrounded by an army of students.”

“Why would you want to talk to a teacher?”

He looked at me for a moment, as though considering how best to answer the question. “Maybe it’s because you don’t seem like a teacher.”

My heartbeat quickened. “Why?”

“You don’t have that look—the tight frown that says you’ve forgotten how to have fun.” He abandoned the doorway and stepped into the room. “And you always look as though you’re keeping a secret.” His voice lowered. “A very delicious secret.”

This was dangerous. In so many ways. I clasped my hands tightly to keep them from trembling. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be talking in this way. In this room. Alone together.”

“Why not?”

He stepped closer and leaned against the bookcase. A familiar odor arose from him—was it brandy? Whiskey? It reminded me of Papa. The seminary boys were expected to be teetotalers, but I suspected dandies like Larkin Bell would partake from time to time. I wasn’t going to be a frowning schoolmarm about it, especially when he was smiling that smile. My stomach fluttered at the darkness of his heavy-lidded eyes, while my thoughts wandered to rivers and the sea. Had he looked at Ella this way? If so, how could she have resisted?

He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “What are you thinking?”

I can’t say what I’m really thinking
. “That Larkin Bell is a bad influence on you.”

“Who’s to say it’s not the other way around?” His mouth curved in a mischievous grin. “Are you upset because I’ve been drinking? Is that why you don’t want to be alone with me?”

“No, it’s not that. Um, it’s really that I shouldn’t be alone with you because it’s inappropriate.”

“Why?” He leaned in even farther.

“Because—”

“Would it be
inappropriate
”—he glanced at my mouth—“if I kissed you?”

I stared at him for a long moment, unable to look away. He held my gaze, his eyes wide and unblinking. Those eyes glittered with challenge, but they communicated something else too—something that made me bend toward him ever so slightly.

The gentle chiming of the clock broke the spell. “O-o-of course it would,” I stammered, taking an awkward step back. “I can’t believe you would suggest such a thing to a teacher. I should … In fact, I really must—”

“You’re not going to give me a demerit, are you, Miss McClure?”

His mocking tone made me flinch. Was that what this was all about? It wasn’t
me
but the allure of the forbidden? My face flamed with anger now.

“Do you think it’s amusing to tease me like this? Do you get some sort of
thrill
from making suggestive comments to teachers?”

His brow furrowed. “No, not at all.”

“You distress me by talking in such a way.”

He stepped backward. “I’m terribly sorry. I thought … Well, I’m not sure what I thought.” He ran his hands through his hair again, a gesture that softened my anger. “I’ll leave you in peace.” He gave a quick bow and turned to walk out of the room.

Wait
.

I longed to speak it aloud, to keep him near so I could explain. Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes, and I had no handkerchief. Real ladies always carried handkerchiefs, didn’t they? What an impostor I was.

Of course it would be that moment that Miss Crenshaw chose to enter the room with Dr. Stewart. Dressed in heavy black satin, she seemed more than ever like an overgrown crow come to scold me.

“Miss McClure, are you well? Was that Eli Sevenstar who just walked out?”

“Yes, it was,” I replied, wiping at my eyes with a gloved hand. The doctor looked away, as though he ardently wished to be elsewhere.

Miss Crenshaw frowned. “I’m not certain it was proper for the two of you to be alone together.”

I stared at her, noting her stiff spine and pursed lips. Why was it that every time I made a misstep, she was there to remind me of it? And why couldn’t she have the decency to speak to me in private?

“No, Miss Crenshaw, it wasn’t proper at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” I swept past both of them, not caring that I might cause offense.

I haunted Olivia’s side for the remainder of the evening, merely nodding and smiling as she carried on conversations for the both of us. I nearly succeeded in not looking for Eli, and therefore barely noticed him standing with Larkin and a small group of the senior girls. His voice, rising and falling in that teasing way, did not pique my interest in the least. Nor did I care to know which particular girl he’d focused his attentions upon, nor what it was exactly that caused her to laugh so prettily.

On our way out, Olivia was called aside by Miss Crenshaw. I did not wish to join her in conversing with that woman, but neither did I wish to walk past Eli Sevenstar, who stood near the door with Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Where was I to go? Eli had thrown me so completely off guard that I was relieved when Fannie called out for me to join her where she stood with an older gentleman.

“Miss McClure, you must meet Mr. Greening of Arkansas. He knows many families in Van Buren. Perhaps he knows your parents? What are their names again, miss?”

I nearly choked.

The man raised his finger. “No, don’t tell me—I’ve remembered! It’s Edward and Margaret, isn’t it? They had a daughter who went to a fine school in Columbia, Tennessee.”

“That would be me!” I could have fainted from relief.

The man, red-faced and grinning, reached out to shake my hand. His eyes conveyed no suspicion. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss McClure. I was telling Miss Bell how my memory plays tricks on me. I haven’t been back to Van Buren in a while, but could have sworn I heard McClure’s daughter was going to marry a Tennessee man, and yet here you are in Indian Territory!”

“Yes,” I blurted awkwardly. “Here I am.”

Fannie’s eyes were wide with affected concern. “Did you break off with your fiancé, Miss McClure?”

“No, no, indeed, Miss Bell. There was no fiancé. Mr. Greening must be confusing me with another girl—a cousin, perhaps.”

He frowned. “Well … I suppose you must be right. I was just so certain …” He trailed off, fiddling with his mustache in consternation. I looked past him to see that Eli Sevenstar had departed. My path to escape was now clear.

I said good night to them, and to Mr. and Mrs. Bell. Then I rejoined Olivia, leaning heavily on her arm as we walked down the porch steps.

“What’s the matter, Willie? You look as though you’ve received the most terrible news.”

“I’m just tired,” I said.

She patted my arm. “For all their fun, parties can be exhausting, can’t they?”

Chapter 13

I
’D LOOKED FORWARD TO GOING
to Olivia’s house at the end of term. The prospect of shedding the role of “Miss McClure, seminary teacher” to just be a girl visiting her friend pushed me through those final days before the holiday. Anyone as sweet as Olivia must have cheerful parents, and I was curious to spend time with a proper family, one in which everyone laughed and teased and scolded out of love.

I relied on this visit to help put Mr. Sevenstar from my mind. I welcomed any distraction that could keep me from reliving the conversation at the Bell home, for I wearied of tearing his sentences apart and examining each word as though it were a specimen under a microscope. It was a fruitless endeavor.

But during the final week of term, Miss Crenshaw called me into her office. I stood for a long moment, wondering what new trouble I’d brought upon myself, as she finished arranging papers on her desk. Finally, she looked up at me.

“Miss McClure, you have provided me with only one grade report this semester, and it was woefully spare in details. If you had read our catalog carefully, you would know that I expect a report at the end of each month. I must be apprised of those students who fail to maintain a passing grade, for they should be kept in study hall on Saturdays until they raise that grade.”

“But all my students have passing grades, Miss Crenshaw,” I said.

“You say that, but in all these weeks, you have turned in grades for only
one
examination!”

I stared down at my clasped hands. “I’m afraid, um, that I’ve fallen a bit behind in my marking, miss.”

“I thought as much.” Her mouth curved into a grim smile. “That is why I am insisting you stay at school over the holiday break.”

I gasped. “But, Miss Crenshaw—”

She waved her hand to silence me. “Yes, I’m sure you had wonderful plans, but your students should be your first priority. And that means getting your grade book in order.” She reached across the desk to pick up a letter. “I’ve also been in communication with Lucy Sharp’s parents. Dr. Stewart has advised that she
not
travel home for Christmas because it would put too much strain on her leg.”

“And you wish me to play nursemaid to her?”

Miss Crenshaw raised an eyebrow. “You were going to be here anyway, so I can’t see how it would be a problem for you to keep an eye on the poor girl.” She set the letter down. “That is all, Miss McClure.”

“Yes, Miss Crenshaw,” I mumbled.

Olivia pouted with disappointment when she heard the news. We shared some sharp words about the principal in private, but in my heart I knew I had only myself to blame. I’d often thought of staying up all night to work through those stacks of compositions, especially when the tapping at my window kept me from sleep. But when I looked at the papers, I didn’t have the slightest idea how to mark them. I knew which ones were good (only a few of them) and which were bad (all the rest), but the problem was explaining
why
a paper was bad and what must be done to fix it. I could remember my teachers covering the pages of my compositions with red pencil markings—instructive words that blurred together when I tried to read them. I envied those teachers now, for at least they’d had
something
to say.

I took comfort in the fact that, at the very least, I would have plenty of time to finish my marking during the long, lonely holiday. I needn’t fret and rush. And I had Lucy to keep me company. Along with Jimmy the cook, we were the only ones to remain after everyone else had been conveyed to the train station or fetched by family.

We set up a bed for Lucy in a quiet corner of the library so I would not have to help her up and down the stairs each day. With Jimmy’s assistance, I dragged in two comfortable chairs from the parlor and set them before the radiator. When I wasn’t working at a table, I sat quietly with Lucy.

The peace and silence settled into my bones—this was what I’d been missing ever since those long-ago days of playing quietly in Papa’s library. Now that we were rid of the grueling daily routine, time took on a suspended quality. There was no need to rush or worry. I banished Eli from my mind, refusing to allow his
ungallant
behavior to disturb my new tranquility. No terrible dreams plagued me, nor any screams or bumps in the night. Even the late-night tapping at my window ceased. I hadn’t slept so well since before Papa died.

Before heading out for her own holiday travels, Miss Crenshaw had reminded me that I must work with the music teachers to put together a dramatic performance lasting no more than ninety minutes and reflecting the school’s strict adherence to propriety. The prospect of herding the girls into a public performance should have terrified me, but instead, I was excited to finally put Papa’s teachings into action. Though Crenshaw hadn’t suggested it, I’d seized upon
As You Like It
as the best candidate for staging. A few parts would have to be trimmed back or dropped altogether, but that didn’t trouble me. Cutting down the text was a wonderful distraction from marking, and I’d never been overly attached to Touchstone and Audrey’s bawdy romance anyway.

Lucy sat in her chair, sullen and quiet.

“Lucy, would you help me copy out scripts? We don’t have the funds to purchase several editions of the entire text, so I’m copying out each part with the proper cues. My papa once told me that’s how it was done in Shakespeare’s day.”

“But we do
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
every year,” she said, peering at my work. “The girls know it already.”

I left the table to sit next to her. “I want to do
As You Like It
. What part would you like?”

“Me?” She snorted. “I’m no actress.”

“How do you know? You were quite good when we performed poetry.”

“That was different. There were no parents or townspeople watching. Besides,” she said, tapping her splinted leg, “I’ve got this to worry about.” She glanced over at the book in my lap. “What’s the play about? Is it sad?”

“Not at all. It’s about two female cousins who must don disguises and escape to the forest. One of the girls must dress as a boy, which proves interesting when she encounters the young man with whom she fell in love while at court.”

“And he thinks she’s a boy? Seems like he would recognize her if he’d been paying attention. Is he under a fairy’s spell?”

“There are no fairies in
As You Like It.
” I thought for a moment. “Shakespeare wanted to show us how people get wrapped up in the idea of love and hardly see the person at all. That’s how my papa explained it to me.”

Lucy sighed. “Wrapped up in the idea of love—that sounds like Ella.”

“In what way?”

She frowned.

“You
can
talk about her, Lucy. Her ghost is not going to jump out of the cupboards at us.” I couldn’t help grinning. “At least, not in the full light of day.”

She took a deep breath. “Ella was a dreamer.”

“How so?”

“I never thought Cale was good enough for her, but I still felt sorry for him when it looked like she would throw him over. She wanted something from a fairy tale and couldn’t see what was right in front of her.”

“Was she courted by other boys at the male seminary?”

“Fannie used to tell her she needed to find a lighter-skinned boy, a boy with better prospects, but whenever she caught Ella smiling at her brother, Larkin, she’d spit fire. And yet Ella still trailed after them.” Her nostrils flared. “Used to make me so mad.”

“Because she left you behind?”

After a moment she nodded. “I don’t like talking about it.” She sighed, then gestured toward my books and papers. “Which scenes should I copy out?”

“Oh, good! Why don’t you start with Rosalind’s part? I know you are quick and write a fair hand.” I gave her arm a squeeze and rose to fetch more paper.

On Christmas Day we were entirely alone. Jimmy stayed long enough to make sure we had plenty to eat before setting out to visit cousins on the outskirts of town.

I’d never seen snow on Christmas, and it looked like Tahlequah would be no exception. It was nippy out, though—chilly and wet—so we huddled up with extra blankets in front of the struggling radiator and ate our breakfast of cold biscuits and preserves.

“It’s too quiet,” murmured Lucy.

“I like it,” I said.

“I don’t know. It’s a heavy sort of quiet.”

I gave her a sidelong glance. “Do you wish you were home with your family?”

“It’d be noisy
there.
” A smile flickered at her lips and then vanished. “But, no, I don’t.” She bit at her fingernail, then looked at me. “Do you know how hard it is for a primary to make it to the upper school?”

“I think so.”

“Well, it’s even harder for a primary-turned-upper-school girl to go back home. My ma and pa don’t speak good English, Miss McClure. They’re proper Christians, but aside from that, they keep to the old ways. When I come home, they stare at me like I’m a stranger. They get shy and tongue-tied. And sometimes they seem angry with me. I don’t understand it. They’re the ones who wanted me to get an education!”

“Maybe they worry that you look down on them?”

“But I don’t! I just don’t like the way they act queerly around me now. Sometimes it makes my stomach ache to be home.”

“Well, you’re talking to someone who’d prefer never to go home again.” It slipped out before I could think, so I quickly stood to forestall questions. “This newfangled steam heat is not as cozy as a fire. What would you think about some mulled cider?”

I was in the kitchen, warming my hands over the pot of cider, when I heard a shout in the distance. The sound was faint, but it had to be Lucy. I clutched my skirts and ran through the dining hall back to the library.

She was sitting up in her chair, her face pale with alarm.

“There was a banging on the door!”

I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. “It’s probably someone from town, Lucy.”

The banging came again, making us both start.

“Should we ignore it?” Lucy looked ready to hide under her blanket.

I laughed shakily. “We’re not going to cower in the library every time someone comes to the door. I’ll go see who it is.”

The corridor was so chilly I had to grit my teeth to keep them from chattering. Pulling my shawl tight, I turned the corner into the vestibule. Through the glass windows I could see a tall form standing outside the doorway. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a man, not a ghost.

I opened the door to find Dr. Stewart peering at me from under his hat, soaked by the rain and clutching his medical case to his body.

“I came to check on the patient,” he said, teeth chattering. “Actually, I came to check on both of you—Christmas is no time to be alone.”

“Come in at once!” I cried, ushering him into the vestibule and shutting the door. I’d forgotten he would be alone on Christmas, his wife having passed and his own family far away.

He seemed to read my thoughts. “I’ve been invited to the Bells’ for supper tonight, but I had the morning free and thought I’d stop by and bring you some Christmas cheer.” He reached within his case and brought out a colorful tin. “It’s candy my family sent from Chicago. Very fine stuff, but I couldn’t eat it all myself.”

I grinned. “I’ve just made hot cider, and Jimmy left us a loaf of gingerbread. You must come sit by our radiator. It’s not as festive as a fire, but better than standing in this freezing vestibule.”

Lucy’s face brightened at the sight of the doctor. She opened her mouth to speak but then ducked her head shyly.

“See, it’s only the doctor come to keep us company,” I said, pleased to see the happy flush spreading over her cheeks.

After he’d given me his coat and warmed himself before the radiator, Dr. Stewart offered to bring another chair from the parlor. He was shivering when he returned. “I was going to ask why you didn’t sit in that cozy parlor, but now I understand. It’s terribly cold in there!”

“Yes, we much prefer it in here. It’s still chilly, but the books seem to provide some insulation.”

Lucy still smiled shyly at the doctor. With his ordinarily pale cheeks broadened by a grin and reddened with cold, he seemed quite animated. The damp air made his hair curl, and his eyes glittered a bright blue. I could see why Olivia sighed when she spoke of him, and how Fannie might yearn to take her sister’s place as his wife. He was a handsome man and very gentlemanly. A little reserved, but improving upon acquaintance.

Best of all, I need not feel wicked for admiring him.

When I returned from the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with gingerbread and mugs of steaming cider, I found the doctor closing up his medical case. Lucy’s eyes followed his every move.

“Our patient is doing quite well,” he announced. “A few more weeks and she’ll be able to walk on that leg again. It was a clever idea to set her up on this floor for the nights. Keeping her off the stairs saves stress on the fracture and encourages swifter healing.”

He spoke quickly, almost as though to cover his unease. Was he nervous here with Lucy and me? No doubt we were staring.