Nate wasn’t much better, especially after the letter from his mother detailing his sister-in-law Violet’s difficult two-day delivery of her second child in February, a girl she and Billy named Rose. As a result, he alternated between begging Annie’s forgiveness for how little time he was spending at home and fussing over the slightest sign that his wife wasn’t in perfect health.
Frankly, Laura didn’t know how Annie kept from screaming at them all.
Consequently, she was determined to not mention Annie’s pregnant state when she spent time with her. Instead, she asked Annie about her financial work with her clients, many of whom ran the various city charities, finding it fascinating how these women managed to influence public policy, despite their lack of the vote.
In turn, Annie seemed genuinely interested in hearing about Laura’s experiences at the university. She laughed as Laura mimicked her Latin professor’s complaints about the lack of real culture on the west coast and told her of her math professor’s colorful sayings when he discovered he’d inadvertently leaned against the blackboard, partially erasing the equations he’d painstakingly prepared before class. And she instantly understood why Laura was so intrigued with the German professor’s emphasis on the linguistic roots of modern languages.
And, together, they had fun speculating about why Professor Sanders called on certain students more often than others, what the attraction was between the painfully tongue-tied agricultural student and the graduate of a Boston Female Academy who were both in her German class, and whether the handsome professor, Proctor, who was tutoring Kitty in French, was doing so because he’d become enamored by her sparkling green eyes or her father’s wealth.
Laura enjoyed these evenings much more than she did any of the Neolaean meetings, but she feared that when the baby came, even Annie wouldn’t have time for her.
And, if she were honest with herself, what she wanted wasn’t a busy social life. What she missed was her Saturday dinners and a couple of hours on Sundays alone with Seth. Spending time with him last fall had somehow made all the rest of the slog between work and school worthwhile. Maybe this summer, when both of them weren’t juggling work and school, he’d be more available.
She wondered if today would be one of the times he showed up to the boarding house for the study session. Would he miss her? Would he wonder where she was? All she had told Celia this morning was that she had an appointment this afternoon and wouldn’t be able to get together to study.
No one, not even Annie, knew the appointment was with Caro Sutton.
Laura had only heard from Grace Atherton’s cousin twice since Caro left campus. The first was a letter Caro sent as soon as she made it back to Nebraska, letting Laura know she had arrived safely but that delays caused by a blizzard outside Denver meant she arrived the day after the funeral. The second letter came two weeks later, saying that she had informed the university of Grace’s death and that she was returning to Chicago to attend to some personal business. Intriguingly, she also informed Laura that she had sent Mrs. Feltzer enough funds to keep the attic room for the rest of the term, having not decided yet if she would return.
Laura had responded to the first letter with a short note of condolence. To the second, she offered to pack up and ship back both Grace and Caro’s belongings, if Caro did decide not to return. At Annie’s urging, she’d refrained from mentioning anything about Caro’s quest to find out what caused her cousin to come home.
As the weeks passed, Laura thought less and less about either Caro or Grace, and she would have said she’d put the whole thing behind her until she’d opened a letter from Caro yesterday evening—a letter that asked if Laura could meet her at the Feltzer boarding house today, at three. She also requested that Laura not tell anyone she was back…until she had a chance to explain what she was doing in town.
Not a problem, Laura had thought…because who would she have told? Everyone was too busy and no one really cared what she was doing.
As the train slowed, Laura realized that somehow she’d spent most of the trip feeling sorry for herself.
How stupid was that!
Laura stood to join the line of passengers disembarking. Unexpectedly, her spirits lifted. In a few minutes she was going to see Caro Sutton. Someone who actually wanted to see her. And someone who might have some answers to whatever happened to the one other person on campus who had been a potential friend…Grace Atherton.
Chapter 16
Sunday afternoon, March 6, 1881
Berkeley
“Boys must study and work in a boy’s way, and girls in a girl’s way.” Sex in Education, Edward H. Clarke
Caro looked at the clock sitting on the top of the bookshelf; Laura Dawson should be exiting the train at the Berkeley station about now. She already had the tea steeping. Caro liked her tea plain, but she had remembered to go down to the kitchen and fill the small cream pitcher and sugar bowl for her guest. Pulling off the top of the teapot to check to see if she needed to remove the tea leaves, she thought of the day Grace carefully wrapped this patterned tea set in her light blue shawl before putting it into the trunk she was packing for her trip west.
Caro had come to the farm to say good-bye that weekend, proud and a little envious that her cousin was embarking on this grand adventure, while Caro faced nothing but the drudgery of teaching a group of unruly boys in the small provincial Lincoln high school. Grace hadn’t seemed the least apprehensive about traveling over fifteen hundred miles, despite the fact that she’d never before traveled outside the state of Nebraska. Or if she was frightened, she’d hidden it well, talking enthusiastically about the classes at the university she would take and the opportunities to do “good work” with the Reverend Mason.
It had been a stifling August day, and Grace had stood in front of Caro, with the silly teapot clutched to her chest, her blue eyes shining, her determined chin thrust in the air, and two spots of rose suffusing her cheeks.
At the memory, Caro’s grief struck, as sharp and fresh as it had been the afternoon, two months ago, when she read the telegram telling her of Grace’s death.
Yet, unaccountably, standing in this attic, surrounded by reminders of her cousin, Caro felt more at peace than she had since that afternoon. The grief was still there; she didn’t want it to ever go away if that meant she was starting to forget Grace. But it felt more bearable here. Perhaps because she wasn’t buried under the emotions of the rest of Grace’s family. Maybe it was because she could feel the joyful essence of her cousin in the place where she had, if only briefly, been able to pursue her lofty scholastic goals. Most likely it was the fact that she now believed she had Grace’s blessing in her quest to discover who had cut short her cousin’s life before she could achieve those goals.
She went over to the attic window to look down at the street, anxious for the arrival of the one other person she felt sure would appreciate why she had returned.
Laura looked around the attic, which seemed even smaller than when she last saw it. No doubt because a third large trunk now sat at the top of the stairs, its lid open to reveal it was half-unpacked. Caro Sutton looked as if she intended to stay for some time.
The woman herself seemed a trifle smaller as well, as she bent over the table to pour tea into two cups. Wasting away from grief? Looking closer, Laura revised her first impression. Caro’s cheeks were still round, her bosom and hips still ample. What had changed was her clothing. In January, she’d worn plain wool dresses, unadorned by any lace, flounces, or a smidgeon of style. Perfect for a humble teacher or a serious scholar. But also, if Laura remembered, ill-fitting—too tight in some places, too loose in others.
Today, she was wearing a black dress, perfectly appropriate for mourning. However, not only was it made of a heavy, expensive silk, but its ebony buttoned bodice had bands of extensive ruching along the collar and cuffs, while the underskirt was constructed of narrow pleats, ending in a deep flounce. Most strikingly, the whole ensemble was tailored so beautiful
ly that it had transformed Caro’s figure into one of striking elegance.
Quite a change.
What hadn’t changed was the prosaic way the woman greeted Laura at the door to the boarding house or, for that matter, her habit of over-brewing tea. Laura added a generous dollop of cream and two teaspoons of sugar to her cup as Caro sat down across from her.
“I want to thank you for your kind note of condolences to me and Grace’s mother and your discretion in not mentioning anything that would have upset the family.”
“I only wish there was more that I could have said or done. And I am sorry to have learned that you were not able to make it back in time for the funeral.”
“Was a blessing, really. I don’t find comfort in hearing other people’s platitudes. Nor did I wish to share my grief with relative strangers. I was of far better use to my aunt Jean after all the ceremonial duties were over. She was completely exhausted, to the point that I feared for her own health. I had to bully her into taking to her bed, while I kept the men folk occupied with extra chores. I told them that we needed to thoroughly clean the house to ensure there was no hint of infection left. Had them washing the walls, scrubbing the floors, and re-blacking the stove, while I washed every piece of clothing in the place. Probably nonsense, medically, but it kept us all tired enough so we could sleep and helped lighten the load for when my aunt felt up to managing the house again.”
“How sensible,” Laura said, picturing these large, hulking men scurrying around doing what was usually considered women’s work. “Your second letter said you also traveled to Chicago.”
“Yes, after two weeks, I felt I had done all I could at the farm and my aunt had revealed some surprising details about Grace’s last days…which changed everything for me.”
Laura waited, sensing that Caro was trying to overcome difficult emotions.
“My aunt told me that two weeks before she died, Grace underwent a kind of crisis. Aunt Jean saw it as a spiritual crisis. Sounded to me like she contracted pneumonia. Whatever the cause, Grace finally agreed to let their minister visit, and it was after several longs talks with him that, according to my aunt, Grace let go of whatever had been tormenting her so she could make her peace with God. Within two days, she was gone.”
“Too quickly to send for you?”
“Yes. Aunt Jean said she now believes that the calmness she had interpreted as Grace embracing life, returning to normal, was really her daughter preparing herself for death…something she no longer feared.”
“Oh, dear.”
“When she first told me this, I was angry. Angry that Grace had given up…willed herself to die…left me alone. A selfish reaction, I know.”
“But very human. Do you recall that I told you about my best friend who died unexpectedly…a little over a year ago? At the time, I was furious. I thought my anger was solely directed at those people I blamed for contributing to that death. In time, I had to admit I was also furious at her. If she had only taken more care.”
Caro nodded and then took up several sheets of paper. “My aunt then gave me a sealed envelope with this letter in it. A letter Grace wrote to me in her last days. I gathered later that she wrote separate letters to each of us in the family.”
Laura fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief. The image of Grace laboriously penning her last communications to her loved ones was heartbreaking.
Caro skimmed through the letter, saying, “Most of the letter was purely personal. However, she did explain that she had been having some minor health problems even before the trip home. Fatigue, some shortness of breath. She knew I believed that my own mother’s frail health and premature death were heart-related, so she speculated that perhaps she had inherited some heart defect.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“Could be, although the symptoms could as well have been the result of emotional stress. However, if there were underlying cardiac issues, the combination of the flu, the exposure when she ran out into the snow, and the subsequent pneumonia could have caused her to have what doctors call a ‘heart attack.’ The laudanum Dr. Rachetter prescribed wouldn’t have helped. But I have accepted that it would be unkind to my aunt and uncle to suggest that their daughter’s death might have been avoided if she had been under different medical care.”
Laura wondered if Caro was being equally kind to herself or if she was still regretting her decision to come west, rather than stay in Nebraska. She said, “Mrs. O’Rourke, our boarding house cook, always tells me, ‘Too many what ifs can spoil the soup.’”
“I expect my aunt would agree with her. I, on the other hand, think there is a difference between trying to figure out why something happened…in order to prevent it happening again…and getting stuck in regretting past actions you can’t change.”
“Agreed. Last year when I was still teaching, I had a student who was so upset when she got a less than perfect score on a quiz that she started second guessing every answer and wouldn’t finish in the allotted time.”
“Were you able to help her?”
“I stopped putting grades on the quizzes. Said they were for their own edification. Of course I did keep track in my record book, but I noticed that students who didn’t really care about grades…did as well, or at least no worse, while those who cared too much seemed to improve once the pressure was off them.”
“I suspect you were a good teacher. Do you intend on going back into the profession when you finish your degree?”
“Heavens no! I got bored, and I’d only been teaching a year. At least with my job, the text I typeset is different every day. I like learning new things. But we have gotten off the topic of Grace and her letter to you.”
Caro took a sip of tea before replying. “Grace wrote that when I left for Berkeley, she’d been so sunk in fear and despair, she couldn’t summon the will to tell me not to go, even though she worried that what I discovered when I got to Berkeley would ruin my regard for her. Later, after talking with her family’s local minister, she said she was able to achieve some perspective. She accepted that, despite the mistakes she’d made, God forgave her, and she didn’t need to be afraid of what I would learn.”
“Did she say what those mistakes were?”
“Not explicitly. Here, let me read this passage to you, so you can tell me your reaction.”
Caro picked up the second page of the letter, readjusted her glasses, and began to read. “Dearest Caro, when I left home to go to the university, I believed that I was on a mission. The Reverend Mason, in his sermons about his church, had described the young men attending the university as being in great danger of falling into lives of idleness and debauchery. I convinced myself that as both a woman of intellect and strong moral character, I had a special responsibility to show these fellow matriculants the error of their ways. If you remember, you often teased me about this belief. At the time, I told myself you would change your mind as you saw the great work I accomplished. Only now do I understand the arrogance that lay behind this belief. You said once that I should be content with being who I was…neither better nor worse than anyone else. I should have listened to you. But the idea of being special was too seductive. When I bowed under the weight of my fellow students’ disapprobation and attacks against me, I turned to the wrong person for support. I trusted when I should have questioned, and when I came face-to-face with how completely I had been betrayed, I came running home, afraid someone would learn what had happened to me. I had lost all faith, in myself, my fellow man, and my Creator.”
“Caro, did she name this person who betrayed her? Was it her fiancé, Willie Caulfield?”
“She doesn’t name anybody. She explains why in this next passage.”
Caro began to read again. “I know you will want to know the details of what happened. Seek retribution. But I can’t tell you, not in a letter. One reason is that by the end, I was so heartsick and confused, I can’t be entirely sure who was really to blame. Was I to blame for being a na
ive fool and bringing on my own moral destruction? Were others to blame, or had they also been seduced or misled into doing evil? I have prayed long and hard over this. I have decided not to give you any names, for fear of being wrong.”
Caro paused, then continued. “But neither can I say nothing. First of all, I’ve read your letters to my mother and can see you were already starting to discover some of the details of what happened to me but feared you were going against my wishes. So, if you do decide to go back to Berkeley, to continue on your search for the truth, I want you to do so knowing you have my blessing. There is an evil presence there that has the power to ruin lives. If you are able to expose and eradicate that evil, I will rest easier. But take care. I know that you became acquainted with Miss Laura Dawson, and I hope you will ask for her help. This is not a quest you should embark on alone. Trust her.”
Laura’s heart twisted, gratified beyond anything by Grace’s approval of her. She dabbed her eyes and said, “Poor, brave Grace. And of course I will continue to help you in your investigations. I assume you’re planning on staying in town for the rest of the term?”
“Yes, although I still don’t know for sure what I will do next year. The first term of the university’s medical school starts in February, so I have plenty of time to decide whether or not I want to go here or look into some other medical school.”
“Did your father change his mind about supporting your medical education?”
Scholarly Pursuits Page 11