I looked to the dancer who’d first spoken. “What is your name?”
“It’s Mae, miss.”
“Can I visit again sometime?”
Mae shrugged and the rest looked blank, but no one frowned or shook her head.
“Good night, then,” I said quietly, and turned to leave them.
The older girls were returning to their rooms as I made my way back down to the second floor. They kept their backs to me, so wrapped up in sighs and laughter they did not think to look behind them. I waited until they’d closed their doors before stepping into the corridor toward my own.
Once in my room, I went to the window. The boys had gone and all was dark outside. I drew the curtains again and quickly settled into bed. But I kept my lamp lit long into the night, almost wishing to hear the tap at my window so I would be forced to think of anything other than Eli Sevenstar.
Chapter 7
FOR SATURDAY’S TRIP TO TOWN, I was not assigned to the Bells as chaperone. Instead, I walked with a group of freshmen excited to be making their first outing of the term. These girls were not daughters of wealthy merchants like Fannie or Lelia. They were full-bloods from the country who’d come to the seminary through the charity of the Cherokee Nation. Like Mae and her friends, they’d started their schooling later than the town girls, and thus had been grouped with the more traditional primaries. For two years they’d watched from the third-floor windows as other girls their age made the trip to town. Now that they were freshmen—at the ripe old age of sixteen—they finally were allowed to make the Saturday pilgrimage themselves.
The day was warm, but a mild breeze cooled our faces without lifting the dust from the streets. Walking with these girls put me at ease. They were close to my age, after all, and seemed anything but pretentious in their simple dresses and bonnets. Their good humor arose from companionship and a sense of adventure. I looked forward to the trip, relieved that the day would not be spent following self-absorbed young ladies. Even more so, I looked forward to an outing free of insults and condescension.
Or so I thought.
On our way to Foster’s store, we saw the Bells and Eli Sevenstar. I averted my gaze, certain that even from that distance Eli could hear my blood pounding. The freshmen whispered their excitement, and I could scarcely blame them. Girls’ schools were much like nunneries, after all. What could be more exciting than to break free and gaze upon handsome young men such as Larkin Bell and Eli Sevenstar?
“Larkin Bell is my distant cousin,” said one girl. “Perhaps we should wish him good day?”
Her friend smiled broadly. “I think that would only be polite.”
But when Larkin noticed our approach, his lip curled. He muttered something to his cousins, who giggled behind their hands. He glanced our way once more and then turned his back to us.
My face flushed hot with indignation—not for myself but for the students. How could Larkin be so ill mannered? Was it because they were charity students? Or did he snub all full-bloods? We stopped in our tracks, momentarily frozen. The girls’ eyes flashed with anger, but they said nothing. I knew I should speak to Larkin, chastise him somehow, but … I was as intimidated as the students.
At that moment, Eli broke away from the group and walked toward us, chin in the air and a lazy smile on his face. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, tipping his hat. “Shall we walk together?”
The girls greeted him with wide smiles, their cheeks flaming to pink. I could have fainted with relief … and gratitude.
Eli gestured toward the Bells, who were eyeing us with furrowed brows. “All they can talk about is ghosts. I’ve never seen Lelia so rattled, and even Fannie is flustered, though her arm is healing fine. Larkin gets a thrill from such stories, but I’d rather talk of pleasanter things.” He looked down at me. “Did you enjoy our serenade, Miss McClure?”
He was smiling, but his eyes were unreadable. Was he teasing me? Or … flirting? He had been gazing up at my window that night. I could almost believe he fancied me. My heart soared and then sank again almost at once, falling to my stomach with a sickening thud. Did he think it amusing to play with the affections of a young teacher?
I looked away.
He strolled casually next to me, and though our shoulders were not touching, I could feel the warmth of his body, could almost imagine his arm circling my waist and my head against his chest. I breathed in his scent—a spicy, woodsy smell that reminded me of autumn nights in front of the fire with Papa. His nearness stoked a flame in my own body, starting at my chest and spreading upward to the very roots of my hair.
Everyone was looking at me. I must have turned beet-red. How much time had passed since he asked the question? What was the question?
Such a fool.
“Oh! Well … your performance was quite a spectacle, Mr. Sevenstar. The girls enjoyed it immensely.” My voice squeaked oddly—sounding much like prim Miss Kirtley.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Eli murmured with a small frown.
We walked in silence. The girls stared at him under their long lashes. I could think of nothing to say. I’m sure we all sighed with relief when he finally opened his mouth to speak.
“I must take my leave now, ladies.” He glanced at each of the girls, his eyes twinkling. “Hope you enjoy the rest of this fine day.” And with another tip of his hat, he turned to rejoin the others.
We were barely a few steps away before the girls began to chitter like chicks in a nest. What a handsome young man! So dashing! Surely he had the loveliest eyes, the softest voice, the manliest shoulders.…
“And he’s very courteous,” said one, her tone thoughtful.
“Not uppity, like some people,” said another.
They chatted quite companionably as we walked on, Eli’s kind attention having rubbed out the memory of Larkin Bell’s snub.
Inwardly, I railed at myself for not steering them away from the Bells in the first place. I’d so looked forward to a day free of their spite, but like an idiot, I let the freshmen walk directly into its path. How could I have been so clumsy?
At the same time, I couldn’t help thinking about Eli. He’d matched the Bells’ cruelty with kindness—no, it was gallantry. Was it for me? Even a little? If only I could have joined the girls in their pleasant chatter. If I were a student rather than a teacher, I could have begged their opinion on every word spoken, every glance shared. Did he seem to notice me especially? Was he flirting? Or was he merely being courteous to a teacher?
Did I make a fool of myself?
But I knew those questions would only continue to echo in my brain, for there was no one to whom I could put them.
The next Friday night, the tapping woke me yet again. For the hundredth time, I went to the window and, for the hundredth time, found nothing there. The tapping would not come when I stood near the window. But I knew it would start again the instant I was comfortably settled in bed.
I thumped the window with my finger. “Why can’t you let me sleep?”
There was no response.
I shuffled back to the bed and lay down on top of the covers. Slowly, I slipped my legs under and pulled the covers up to my chin. The silence continued. I settled into the pillow and imagined I was a student at the seminary, dressed in beautiful clothes and receiving Eli Sevenstar in the parlor. He was taking my hand, ready to proclaim his deep adoration, when the tapping started again.
“Oh, bother!”
I threw the covers back once more and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. After much fumbling for a match, I lit the lamp and carried it to the window. I stood there for some time, listening, and then stepped back to stare at the window … and the chiffonier that stood next to it. I’d found nothing behind the chiffonier, but might something have made a nest inside it? I shivered at the thought. The drawers had been clean and free of pests when I put my clothes in, but what about the space behind the drawers?
Setting the lamp down, I started at the top and quietly removed each d
rawer, setting them on the bed. The first two glided out easily, and my shoulders sagged with relief when no nests were discovered within or behind them.
The third drawer stuck halfway when I tried to pull it free.
I didn’t want to force it, for who knew what blocked its path? A nest? The decayed corpse of a rodent? Holding the drawer with one hand and lifting the lamp with the other, I peered into the recesses of the chiffonier. No tiny corpse there, but also no sign of what made the drawer stick. I left the drawer hanging and set the lamp down. Then I removed the drawer underneath and set it on the bed with the others. Taking a deep breath, I knelt down and reached under the stuck drawer to feel along the sides for the obstruction.
At the left edge, my fingers found the sharp corner of something wedged between the drawer and the interior runner. Quite certain it was cardboard or paper rather than decayed flesh, I grasped the corner and gently worked it back and forth. Finally, it loosened. Taking great care not to tear it, I pulled the obstruction free.
It was a piece of thick paper folded into a small square. I sat back more comfortably and pulled the lamp near before unfolding it with shaking hands. The paper was much creased and yellowed, but it was simple enough to make out the words scrawled in untidy, slanting script.
Ella,
My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?
My river waits reply.
Oh sea, look graciously!
I’ll fetch thee brooks,
From spotted nooks,—
Say, sea, take me!
The note was signed with initials in lowercase—“e.s.”
Eli Sevenstar?
A phantom hand clutched at my stomach, forcing bile to my throat. My eyes traced the words again. And again.
It was impossible to deny what I read—Eli had written a passionate, poetic love note to Ella. Perhaps he’d written many, but only this one survived because it somehow became wedged between the drawer and the runner. I shook my head angrily. Why did it surprise me? On that first trip to town, Fannie had said—in front of everyone—that Eli once loved Ella. And he had not denied it. Everyone loved Ella, he’d said. So why was my face hot and my stomach churning?
I read the note once more and blushed even hotter. I’d read enough of Shakespeare’s bawdy language to understand what it meant when a boy called himself a river and his beloved the sea. Rivers ran to the sea—entered the sea.
Just how well had Eli loved Ella?
A drink of water, or maybe a splash of it on my face, was what I needed. I crawled over to the bed and slid the note under the mattress. Then I pushed myself up and walked on wobbling legs to the washstand. But when I lifted my pitcher to pour, a single drop dribbled into the cup. I clutched the empty pitcher to my chest with a stifled sob.
Too lazy to fetch the lamp, I shuffled to the door and opened it quietly. The last thing I wanted was someone to find me sniffling like a fool in the dark. I inched slowly toward the lavatory and then stopped in my tracks. Something wasn’t right—I could feel it like a tremor in the air. I turned in the opposite direction, toward the other bedrooms.
A faint crack of light shone through the bottom of one of the doors.
I wiped my tear-blurred eyes and stepped softly toward that crack of light. I heard low whispers. No giggles, no squeals of laughter. Just a steady stream of whispering. My scalp prickled at the oddness of it.
I pressed closer, moving slowly so as not to make a sound when I drew near the door. The whispers combined into something like a chant. Was it a prayer? Steadying the pitcher in one hand, I grasped the door handle with the other and pushed the door open.
Three girls sat on the floor, circled around a large candle that flickered wildly and threw eerie shadows upon their faces. Each held an open Bible, but I knew this was no late-night prayer circle. Their faces were not composed in prim devotion. Rather, as their heads turned sharply toward the doorway, I saw eyes wide with fear.
“Oh, damn and blast!” cried Fannie.
“Miss McClure, we weren’t doing anything wrong!” Lelia’s chin trembled. Alice stared at the Bible in her hands, her shoulders slumped.
“What were you doing?”
Fannie raised her chin defiantly, but it was Alice who spoke.
“We were trying to lay the spirit to rest.”
Chapter 8
I CLOSED THE DOOR BEHIND ME and took a seat on the nearest bed—the one Fannie kept all to herself. I stared hard at them, almost glad for this distraction from the horrid note in my chiffonier.
“Miss McClure,” said Lelia, her lip trembling, “every time I go into the parlor, something breaks.”
“Don’t tell her anything more,” Fannie spat.
“I don’t care what you say,” said Lelia, glaring at her friend. “I’m truly frightened. Every night you dream of that river water—I know you do! I hear you moaning about it in your sleep. I’ve barely slept since you told us about that night. I’m terrified of bathing in the lavatory because I imagine those faucets gushing with dark water and flooding the room.” She turned back to me. “We had to do something!”
“You thought a séance was the answer?” I asked.
“Actually, it was an exorcism,” said Fannie, her desperation barely cloaked by the bold words.
“It’s Ella’s ghost that’s after us, Miss McClure!” Alice’s soft voice was sadder than I’d ever heard it.
“Supposing for a moment there was a ghost,” I said, “why do you think she’d be after you?”
The girls looked at each other nervously. No one spoke.
I lifted my hand in exasperation. “Did one of you murder her?”
Lelia gasped. “Of course not!”
“Well, then? If Miss Crenshaw finds out what you’ve been up to, you’ll get demerits for the rest of the term.” I glared at them for a moment longer, but curiosity nagged at me. “If you can explain this to me, I might let you all get back to bed without telling our principal an exorcism was going on right under her nose.”
Fannie kept her eyes on the candle flame, but Lelia glanced at Alice nervously. Alice’s face was hard as stone.
Lelia swallowed. “I suppose we weren’t always as nice to Ella as we should have been.”
“I didn’t know she was one of your group.”
“She was our good friend. It’s just that sometimes we teased her a little.”
“Your good friend?” It was Alice who spoke, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.
“Yes, our good friend,” said Fannie, turning to her. “Are you deaf, cousin?”
Alice’s mouth tightened. “You mean like I am your good friend? The same way a beast of burden is a good friend?”
“What are you talking about?” Fannie frowned at the girl.
“I’m saying that Ella was your friend as long as she was useful. As long as she fawned over you and did the tasks you gave her.” She lifted her chin, her mouth trembling as she continued. “But you didn’t really like her, did you? Just as you don’t really like me!”
Fannie and Lelia glared at Alice, saying nothing. I took a breath and tried to make my voice gentle and coaxing. “Why wouldn’t they like you, Alice?”
“Because girls like Ella and me were poor, and they thought us backward for growing up in log cabins with parents barely scratching out a living and grandparents who only spoke Cherokee.” Tears glistened in her dark eyes. “Ella was beautiful, though. So they wanted her in their group, to keep an eye on her.” She turned to me. “Miss McClure, they hated her for her beauty!”
“That is a lie!” Lelia spat. “Why do you say such spiteful things?”
“I’m not lying. You teased her for being a savage and for having a savage for a beau. You told her no matter how beautiful she was, she’d never be a real lady. You know what you’ve done, and now Ella is going to make you both sorry for it!” Alice drew a ragged breath. “And she’ll come after me because I knew what you were doing and didn’t say anything … becaus
e I couldn’t help thinking, Better her than me.”
With that, she collapsed into sobs. The other two stared at her, their faces pale with alarm. Or was it guilt?
In that moment, I felt a kinship with Alice, as I had with Lucy during that first trip to town—both were girls like me who didn’t quite fit in, who were teased and bullied, but who would rather be used than ignored.
“All right,” I said finally. “I don’t think I’ll understand all this tonight, but I can tell you there is no ghost. Haven’t you read Macbeth? Do you think Banquo really appears to him and it just so happens no one else can see him? Of course not! Macbeth’s imagination is plagued with guilt, just as your feelings of guilt are plaguing you.”
They all stared at me blankly before looking down again.
“Clearly I need to assign more Shakespeare,” I muttered.
Fannie shook her head. “You don’t know what I saw the night I fell.”
“Dreams can seem very real, very frightening. I know this from experience. But you can’t let them drive you mad.”
She raised her head to glare at me. “Will you run tattling to Miss Crenshaw?”
Oh, how I would love to, my dear. I rubbed my hands on my nightgown and stood up. Cocking my head, I stared back at Fannie. All three girls sat frozen, holding their breath until I spoke. But all I did was grab my pitcher by the handle and turn away. I moved slowly toward the door, taking my time to consider the best answer to Fannie’s insolent question. I heard a collective sigh, as though they believed all hope lost. The dreaded demerits would be meted out. I had to admit I enjoyed their suffering. Just a bit.
Once I’d reached the door, I turned back to look at each of them. “If you would make an effort to be nicer to each other,” I began, gesturing meaningfully at Alice, who was hanging her head again, “and if each of you tried a little harder during recitations, I’d consider not reporting this to Miss Crenshaw.”
The eyes of two girls widened with hope, but Fannie frowned.
“You are blackmailing us?”
The Revenant Page 7