The only problem was, this freshman was Laura Dawson, the young woman Caro had been so spectacularly rude to yesterday afternoon.
She’d been flustered when the tall brunette knocked on the attic door. Tired from her train trip, upset from seeing Grace’s books and clothing in such disarray—visible signs of her usually neat cousin’s hurried departure—she’d panicked, stupidly pretending she didn’t even know who Grace Atherton was.
She could only hope that the young woman would listen to her long enough to overcome the bad first impression she’d made and help her. Because now that Caro had come to Berkeley, on what felt like a quixotic quest for the truth, she realized she would need all the help she could get.
Laura jerked awake then looked around surreptitiously to see if anyone on the train had noticed that she’d nodded off. Thank heavens, the passengers across the aisle from her seemed engaged in gathering their personal items together in preparation for the train’s arrival. She looked out the window and saw that they were approaching the split in the tracks that took in-bound trains to the right of the Berkeley station. She supposed if she somehow slept through this stop, the conductor would have woken her up at the end of the line, which was only seven blocks north at Rose Street.
But how embarrassing!
For the thousandth time, she wondered how smart it was for her to try to participate in any extra-curricular activity, much less the Neolaean Literary Society, which met every Friday evening at seven. After two hours of classes this morning, another four hours of typesetting back in the city, and so far, three hours spent going back and forth between San Francisco and Berkeley, she was dog-tired. Additionally, the meetings she’d been able to attend last term hadn’t been all that stimulating; what if she fell asleep during the program?
She reminded herself that if she was serious about getting some articles printed in the student newspaper, or even submitting something to one of the numerous small newspapers in the state that might be interested in articles about student life at the University of California, particularly from a “woman’s perspective,” then she needed to have something to write about beyond her classes, and the Neolaean meetings were the only extra-curricular activities she could make. At least Celia and Kitty, who had stayed on campus to study at the library this afternoon, planned on joining Laura at the end of the meeting so they could all go back to the city together.
As the train slowed to a halt, Laura stood and fastened the top of her brown wool cloak and checked to make sure that she hadn’t knocked her hat askew. She hooked her brown velvet drawstring purse over her arm and joined the line of passengers moving down the aisle.
After thanking the porter who helped her step down from the car to the platform, she looked up to where the grounds of the university rose to the east. There were a few gas lamps along the residential streets that bordered the campus, but beyond a few faint glimmers of light high up the slope—most likely from some faulty offices and the library in South Hall—the rest of the campus looked dark and forbidding. She had become so used to living in a large, well-lit city that a little darkness seemed threatening.
Last November, which was the last time she attended a literary meeting on campus, had also been the first time that the new clubhouse cottage was used instead of a classroom in North Hall. Consequently, both the Durant Rhetorical and the Neolaean Literary societies held a special joint meeting to dedicate the new clubhouse, and there had been a whole group of people walking to the meeting. Tonight, she saw only a few other people heading up Center Street towards campus. She hoped that someone had the foresight to place a couple of lanterns along the path, as they had done in November. These sporadic lights hadn’t done much besides making sure no one fell into Strawberry Creek, but they had helped.
Thinking about that dark path, she started to pick up her pace to catch up with the others walking that way. Suddenly, someone stepped out of the shadows, sending her heart racing. Surprised, she recognized Grace Atherton’s cousin, Miss Sutton, who nodded brusquely and asked if she could accompany Laura, wishing to apologize for her behavior the day before and explain why she hadn’t been initially forthcoming about her relationship to Grace.
Laura took a deep breath and counted to five before answering, her mother’s prescription for curbing her temper. What she’d wanted to do was berate the woman for scaring her half to death, which wasn’t really fair. Miss Sutton couldn’t have known how nervous she was feeling, and since the woman was quite short, coming up no higher than Laura’s shoulder, she probably never thought of herself as frightening.
Laura said, as pleasantly as she could once her heart returned to its normal speed, “Of course you can join me. Are you planning on attending the meeting, Miss Sutton?”
“Yes, I know my cousin was an active member of the Neolaean Society. I was hoping that you might introduce me to some of her acquaintances.”
As they stepped down off the platform and crossed the tracks to reach Center Street, Laura replied, “I’m not sure I am the best person for that task. I’ve not been very active in the society, and I don’t personally know any of Grace’s classmates. However, I’m sure that once people learn that you are her cousin, they will be quite welcoming.”
They’d just come to the first gas lamp on the corner of Center and Shattuck, where Miss Sutton paused. Laura looked down at her, not surprised to discover that she was frowning, which so far seemed to be her companion’s most prevalent expression. Perhaps she was again being unfair. Given that Miss Sutton was wearing spectacles, she might simply be short-sighted, not perennially irritated.
“Miss Dawson, I am going to be entirely frank with you. I would prefer that as few persons as possible know that I am Grace’s cousin.”
“Why?” Laura said, her suspicions confirmed that there was something odd going on.
“I assure you, there is a good reason for this request.”
A young man and a woman appeared down the block at the corner of Oxford, silencing Miss Sutton until they had turned and gotten out of voice range. She then glanced down at the small silver watch pinned to the bodice of her plum-colored walking suit. “It is only six-thirty. Would you be amenable to sitting on one of the benches I noticed near the entrance to campus? Where we could talk more privately?”
“I guess so. The program doesn’t start until seven, although most people arrive a half an hour earlier. Tea and other refreshments are served, one of the many benefits of the new clubhouse. The university kept the kitchen that was part of the original cottage when they renovated it.”
As they walked the two short blocks to campus, Laura was amused to discover that she had to hurry to keep up with Miss Sutton, who, despite her short stature, kept up a rapid pace. When they came to the end of Center Street, where two lamp posts bracketed the carriage road that took off up the dark hill, Grace’s cousin walked over to the right-hand bench, sweeping off a couple of dead leaves before sitting down.
Arranging her purse primly on her lap, she said, “I hope you won’t be too cold, Miss Dawson. In Nebraska, in January, these temperatures would be seen as balmy.”
“No, although this side of the bay always seems a tad cooler than over in San Francisco to me. And please call me Laura. If I’m to be your confidant, I think a little less formality is in order.”
“If you wish. You may call me Caro, which is the name I have gone by ever since Grace found it easier to say than Carolyn when she was a baby.”
“Grace is younger than you, then? And your families were close?”
Laura had cousins but had never met any of them since they all lived back east. Her brother Nate had gotten to meet a good number of their mother’s family when he attended Western Reserve College. Laura had been too young to remember anyone when her family left Ohio in sixty-three—not even her two oldest brothers who had already died in the war by that time. She’d often wondered what it would be like to have a large extended family. Although everyone at the O’Farrell Street board
ing house had become as precious to her as blood relatives.
Caro Sutton interrupted this thought, saying, “Grace is four years younger than I am. My mother and Grace’s mother were sisters. My aunt Jean married a local farmer, and she and my uncle Robert inherited the Nebraska farm when her parents, my grandparents, died.”
“And did your mother marry a farmer as well?” Laura knew her own parents were disappointed she had never shown any interest in local boys from nearby ranches.
“No. My mother married a man from Lincoln, and soon after their marriage, he moved the family to Chicago, where he set up a successful wholesale business. My father demanded that my mother devote all her time to running the house and being at his beck and call, so she never got to go back home to Nebraska. Thankfully, he found me a nuisance, so when I wasn’t in boarding school, he packed me off to the Nebraska farm. I loved those summers, running around with Grace and her three brothers, taking care of the chickens, fishing and swimming in the pond, helping with the harvest.”
“Sounds like my childhood.” Laura didn’t mention that she hadn’t seen her chores in quite that positive a light.
“Grace mentioned in her letters that you came from a cattle ranch in San Jose. I think that’s one of the reasons she felt comfortable with you. What I can’t figure out is how she felt about her other classmates. She wrote amusing little anecdotes about other students, but I can’t tell if she was close to any of them. Do you know who her particular friends were?”
Laura thought about this for a moment before replying. “As I’ve said, I didn’t know Grace all that well. We would chat occasionally on the way to and from the library between classes. And early in September she invited me over to supper at her boarding house before a meeting of the Neolaean Society. But, honestly, that was about the extent of our contact.”
“Are you saying you never saw her with any female students?”
“I’m not saying that. I mean, there are so few women on campus that we do tend to become at least superficially acquainted, sitting together in the classrooms, or in the library, and so forth. I think I would notice if Grace had deviated from that pattern. Then again, she did say that one of the reasons she moved to Mrs. Feltzer’s boarding house was that she’d found the atmosphere oppressive where she lived her first semester here.”
“Oppressive?”
“She said the girls spent too much time together, gossiping, having little crushes on each other. I certainly saw this sort of behavior my first year at San Jose Normal School, but most of my classmates matured over time…or dropped out. Of course the number of women in the junior class here is quite small. I don’t think there are more than seven or eight women. Did Grace say anything that suggested she didn’t like her classmates or they didn’t like her?”
“No, and I assumed she had close female friendships here at the university because she was so popular in high school. I also thought that if she were unhappy or discontented, she would have told me.”
To Laura, Caro’s flat midwestern accent drained her words of any emotion. But the distress in this last statement was evident in the way she twisted her hands over the handle of her purse.
Laura stayed silent, not quite sure what to say.
After a pause, Caro said, “For four years, Grace and I shared a room in the same boarding house. I was attending the University of Nebraska, while Grace had come to Lincoln to attend Girls’ High. All four years, Grace was the center of a large group of girls who were her ‘best friends.’ They sang in the school choir together, helped put out the school newspaper, studied together. Those weekends she couldn’t return to the family farm, which was about an hour outside of Lincoln, she spent most of her time going on picnics, sleigh rides, and attending lectures with these friends.”
Laura didn’t find it difficult to picture this younger Grace, her sweet, serious smile, vivid blue eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy from the crisp Nebraska air, because this was the Grace she had met the first day of classes. They had started to chat as they stood in line to buy textbooks at the co-operative bookstore in the basement of North Hall. Grace had been so friendly, sharing her enthusiasm about being back on campus, giving wise advice about how to navigate the dreaded first year English and math classes.
Laura also remembered when Grace’s beau, Willie Caulfield, came up and interrupted them, recalling how the young man had inserted himself into their conversation, as if he were jealous that Grace was speaking to anyone else…even another female.
She said, “Do you know about her friend, Mr. Caulfield?”
“Her fiancé?”
“Her fiancé? I didn’t know he’d proposed.”
Caro once again frowned. “Grace led me to think this was common knowledge.”
“Maybe it was, but not to me. If you are looking for an explanation for why your cousin might not have had any close female friendships here at the university, Mr. Caulfield is probably the reason.”
“What do you mean?”
Caro’s voice sharpened, causing Laura to hesitate. She could hear Annie caution her not to be so open with someone she had just met. Rising from the bench, she said, “It’s getting late; we should head up the hill to the meeting.”
Caro Sutton stood up and stepped in front of Laura. “First, tell me why you think that Mr. Caulfield is the reason behind Grace’s lack of friends.”
Laura, taken aback by the woman’s fierce tone, said, “Excuse me, I don’t have to tell you anything. Up until now, I have answered your questions to the best of my ability. You, on the other hand, have volunteered very little of significance in return. You certainly haven’t explained why I should keep your relationship to your cousin a secret or discuss her private life with you any further. I may not know your cousin that well, however, the one thing I do know about her is that she didn’t like gossip. If you and she are so close, why don’t you write your cousin and ask her these questions directly?”
“I sincerely wish I could. But something happened here at Berkeley that sent her home, something so terrible that it seems to have temporarily disordered her mind.”
Chapter 7
Friday Evening, January 7, 1881
Berkeley
“The Neolaean Literary Society will complete the tenth year of its existence in October 1881.” 1881 Blue and Gold Yearbook
As the eight members of the Neolaean Literary Society Glee Club trooped up onto the small stage to open the proceedings with song, Laura unfastened her cloak and discretely fanned her overheated brow with the printed program she’d picked up as she entered the meeting room with Caro Sutton.
Compared to the chill winter air outside, the meeting room felt uncomfortably stuffy. At least sitting in the last row of benches, they got a little fresh air from the hallway. Caro had asked that they sit in the back so she could get a good view of everyone in the audience. Laura was grateful that they’d arrived just as the program started. This would give her time to get her thoughts in order before the intermission.
As the male voices blended in harmony on the song “Wait for the Wagon,” Laura reviewed what Caro had told her as they hurried up the hill. She had no reason to disbelieve Caro’s story about her cousin, but from the little she knew of Grace Atherton, it all seemed so unlikely. On the other hand, why would Miss Sutton lie? Perhaps the case was simply one of the woman jumping to unwarranted conclusions. Given that some people had accused Laura of doing that very thing a time or two, she wanted to give Miss Sutton the benefit of the doubt.
The bare facts were grim enough, without adding Caro’s suspicions that someone was responsible for Grace’s breakdown. First of all, Caro told her that Grace’s family had no idea that she was heading home until they got a telegram from the Omaha train station on November 27 that asked that someone come fetch her. Caro said, “Her arrival didn’t make sense. She never came home between terms. Too expensive. And I was going to join her here in less than a month.”
After getting the telegram, her uncle made
the two-hour trip to the train station, finding Grace huddled on a bench, delirious with fever. The station master told him that the Union Pacific porter assigned to her car said she didn’t appear ill when she boarded the train at the transfer spot in Ogden, Utah. Nevertheless, during her first night on board, he heard her coughing.
“She was so sick that by the time the train arrived at Omaha, the porter had to carry her off the train. Fortunately, there was a passenger in the station who recognized her. He gave the conductor Grace’s name and her address before boarding the train as it headed off east. I don’t know what would have happened if we hadn’t been notified.”
Caro told her that Grace’s landlady, Mrs. Feltzer, got a letter from Grace on the morning of November 21, posted from Sacramento, which was the first meal-stop for the train that left Berkeley the evening before. The letter had included money to cover December’s room and board and requested that the landlady await further instructions about the next term. “That was the first that anyone at the boarding house even knew that Grace had left town.”
When Laura had asked how Grace explained her unexpected return, Caro said that her cousin was so ill when she arrived, with what their doctor said was influenza, they weren’t able to get any sense out of her. Once Grace’s fever broke and she began to rally…at least physically…she resisted any attempts to question her about what sent her home.
“My aunt and uncle decided not to pressure her, figuring she would start to confide in them once she was fully recuperated. I had been visiting the farm for Thanksgiving, so when the family doctor assured us that Grace was on the mend, I went back to finish up my teaching job in Lincoln. I returned to the farm three weeks later, expecting to find Grace all ready to go with me to Berkeley, as we had planned, now that she had recovered from the flu.”
Scholarly Pursuits Page 4