by Kay Moser
“Indeed they will,” General Gibbes agreed. “And I have telegraphed the railroad office in Fort Worth. If you ladies leave on the early mail train, there will be no stops between here and there. Unfortunately, there are no special accommodations, but once you board the train in Fort Worth, you will have three private sections in a sleeper car, which can be curtained off from the other passengers and made into beds at night. You will not have luxury, but you will have comfort, and your car will go on from Denver to the Boulder station. I wish I could have reserved a private car, but on such short notice—”
“These arrangements will be fine,” Christine insisted. “We do not need luxury; we need room for the girls to move around without disturbing Victoria, as well as a place to sleep.”
Hayden bolted out of his chair and paced back and forth. “I still think I better accompany you to the sanitarium and come straight back.”
“Nonsense.” Victoria struggled up off the pillows, and despite Christine’s efforts to stop her, planted her feet on the wide planks of the floor. “You are clearly needed here, and I could make this trip with Frances alone. Have you forgotten that she and I traveled to the lake country while you stayed in London last summer?”
Hayden shook his head. “This is not England, and Frances is colored. She and Nancy won’t be allowed to ride in the same car with white people.”
“Not even as nurses?” Christine asked.
“Perhaps in the daytime, but never at night. They’ll have to go to the colored folks’ car to sleep, and you’ll be alone, Christine, trying to take care of Victoria and the girls.”
“Hayden!” Victoria raised her voice. “Let me remind you that while I may be weak, I have not lost my voice and have no qualms about using it. No one is going to tell Frances that she can’t—”
A smile lifted Hayden’s worried face.
“We’re going,” Victoria announced. “You may accompany us as far as Fort Worth and help us change trains, but then you must come straight back to Riverford and help General Gibbes save the bank. Now, the only question left is, when is all this going to happen?”
“On Wednesday morning if the sanitarium can be ready to receive you,” Hayden answered.
“Less than a week?” Victoria looked at Christine. “Can we get ready so soon?”
“We can do anything we make up our minds to do!” The uncharacteristic adamancy of Christine’s tone made the rest of them laugh.
“She sounds just like a certain red-haired lady I know.” Hayden sat down next to Victoria and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Not to mention a certain general,” Victoria added.
CHAPTER 28
A strange, almost eerie silence blanketed the tent city when Sarah awakened. Even the usual cheerful birdsong from the mesa behind the tent was absent. The dim light suggested a very early hour, but Sarah was tired of tossing and turning. She rose quietly and dressed, eager to climb the mesa and watch the sun march across the valley toward Texado Park. When she pushed back the tent flap and stepped outside, she was startled to find thick fog. She hurried around the tent but stopped short when she saw that the mountains were gone. Sarah’s mouth fell open, and her eyebrows lifted in shock. How could something so enormous disappear? She stepped farther away from the tent and peered into the grayness. Most of the mesa had disappeared too; only the beginning of the footpath was visible, and it disintegrated into swirling, smoke-like fog almost immediately. Sarah’s spirits sank. If I can’t even see the mountains, I can’t—
She turned back toward the tent city and walked down the deserted, fog-filled lane toward the auditorium perched on the eastern side of the hill. Surely I can see the valley from there, and I need—oh, I don’t know what I need!
When Sarah sank down on the rock that had become a favorite eastern viewing post for many of the teachers, she found that the valley had also disappeared into the fog. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and lowered her weary head to rest.
Ten days! I have been gone from Riverford for ten days, and I can’t begin to recount the new experiences I have had. Her mind flitted back over the train journey, the new sensations of the mountains, the week of tent city life, her classes. “Stop!” she ordered herself. “You can’t take it all in at this very moment.”
Tears gathered in her eyes as a wiser thought whispered through her mind. That’s not what’s wrong with you. Lee … You miss him. And you are sick with worry about Victoria. Her throat tightened. I have not heard one word from her in ten days! She must be so sick … what if she …
The thought of Victoria dying sent a shaft of panic straight to Sarah’s mind. She tightened her grip on her knees as a soft sob escaped her lips. “Oh, I mustn’t … someone will see me … hear me …” She desperately tried to maintain some semblance of composure, some grip on reality instead of fear. The damp gray fog defeated her, and her shoulders shook with her wracking sobs.
When she was all cried out, she loosened her fierce hold on her knees and rocked herself from side to side. Oh God, please, please heal Victoria! I can’t go on if— She could not bear to finish the thought. Her spirits sank lower and lower until she felt she did not have the power even to raise her head. Please, God …
Sarah felt a tiny, quick movement beside her on the rock. She turned her head and opened her raw eyelids. A tiny bird had joined her on the rock. It skittered around, pausing occasionally to look up at her with quick jerks of its head. Seconds later, a soft, yellow beam of light touched her cheek and pooled around the bird. Sarah lifted her head and looked toward the east. The fog had divided into two horizontal swaths of gray, one covering the valley floor, the other slightly above the horizon. Pale sunlight streamed through the crack in the fog and bathed Sarah while the tiny bird chirped at her side.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I see it. I see. Oh, thank you, God! I see the light; it’s coming.”
“Sarah!” Bert’s easily recognized voice called from behind her.
Sarah turned and saw the older woman hurrying toward her, waving a piece of paper.
“It’s a telegram!” Bert panted as she reached Sarah’s side. “Oh, my dear, I hope it’s not—”
Sarah jumped to her feet, snatched the envelope from Bert’s hand, and tore it open. Her eyes raced across the paper, then she threw back her head and exclaimed, “Yes! Thank you, thank you, God.”
Bert’s mouth fell open. Her eyes darted between Sarah’s jubilant face and the piece of paper crushed in her hand. “What does it say?”
Sarah’s hands shook as she smoothed the paper, then read from it. “Victoria, Christine, girls arriving fifteenth. Stop. Meet four p.m. Boulder train. Stop. Sanitarium lodging. Stop. Hayden.”
Bert gasped. “They’re coming here?”
“Yes!” Sarah grabbed Bert and hugged her.
“Now, now, enough of that.” Bert blushed as she pushed her away. “Well, well. Clearly the doctors think your Victoria is able to travel. Sick enough to stay in the sanitarium … Still, she is able to travel.”
Sarah’s excitement dwindled. “You’re right, of course. They wouldn’t let her make the trip if they didn’t think it was absolutely necessary to save her. And if Christine is bringing her—” Sarah stopped and looked down at the rock. “Things must be desperate.”
“Who is Christine? A servant?”
“No, she’s Mrs. Richard Boyd.”
Bert’s brow furrowed. “The lady recently widowed? She’s coming? Now? So soon after ...”
Sarah nodded.
“How extraordinary. A widow traveling so soon after her husband’s death … That in itself suggests desperate need.” She jerked herself up straighter. “Well … well, I’m sure everything will be all right …”
Sarah bit her lip as she turned back to view the valley. The horizontal line of sunshine was widening, and the valley floor was growing more distinct. Sarah’s spirits rose as she saw the light increase. “Yes,” she said with certainty. “Yes,
everything will be more than all right.”
Bert stepped closer and patted Sarah’s shoulder. “It’s not in our hands, my dear.”
“No, it’s not in our hands.” Sarah turned and looked Bert in the eye. “It’s in much more capable hands. God is providing.”
“Is providing? Don’t you mean will provide?”
Sarah shook her head. “No. He is providing. Right now. He has been providing all along.”
Bert nodded, and Sarah thought she saw the glint of sudden tears in Bert’s eyes.
“Well, let’s get on with things.” Bert whirled around and took several steps away from Sarah. “This mountain air makes me hungry, and the dining hall should be open for breakfast. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t gain twenty pounds this summer.”
Sarah laughed as she followed. “You won’t. The first trip into the mountains is scheduled for tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll be hiking all day.”
Bert groaned. “I’m going to be feeling my age trying to keep up with you.”
“I’m not going. I’m going down to the sanitarium to be sure they’re getting everything ready.”
Bert turned back to face her. “Now why would you do that if God is providing?”
Sarah’s hands flew to her head, and she shook it as she laughed at herself. “When will I ever learn?”
Bert laughed too and grabbed Sarah’s arm to pull her along. “Probably long before I do. Let’s just take one day at a time, and today is filled with classes. How is your Shakespeare class coming along?”
“You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?”
“That Kelly is planning to insist Dr. Morton change the curriculum? Yes, I overheard her working up support among some of the suffragettes at supper last night.”
“I wish she would leave her politics outside the classroom. I just want to learn as much as I can from Dr. Morton. I’m lucky to have a chance to study under him.”
“Well, time will tell whether Kelly can take control of Dr. Morton. I haven’t got time to worry about it. Such a full day!”
“And a symphony concert in the auditorium tonight,” Sarah added. “I’ve listened to Madame Makarova practicing. It’s going to be a stunning performance. Oh, Bert, just think how thrilled Christine will be to be able to attend the concerts.”
***
Sarah took prodigious notes as Dr. Morton lectured non-stop on life in the latter half of sixteenth century England. Sarah had read some of Shakespeare’s plays, but she found the history, politics, and social conditions of the era were new, fascinating ground. Here was yet another example of an artist, a poet, and playwright in this case, struggling with the social conventions of the day. And the politics! Sarah couldn’t imagine the courage it took to write plays for Queen Elizabeth to view. When Dr. Morton announced that they would spend the term focusing on Shakespeare’s famous plays about English kings, Sarah’s face lit up, but not everyone shared her pleasure.
Seated on the front row, Kelly jabbed her hand into the air.
Dr. Morton looked over his glasses at her, eyeing her hand with the obvious disapproval of a professor who is not accustomed to being questioned. “Yes, Miss Kelly,” he finally said. “How can I be of service?”
“Just call me Kelly. As to your plan to study the history plays, I prefer—”
Dr. Morton extended his hand to stop her. “I do not address ladies by their surnames without utilizing an appropriate title, Miss Kelly. Such an idea is unacceptable—indeed, abhorrent—to me. It suggests a familiarity that is most unseemly.”
“This is 1898, Dr. Morton!” Kelly protested.
“I am well aware of the year, Miss Kelly.”
“Then surely you agree that in these modern times we should study plays that relate more to our lives. I suggest that we make a psychological study of the three daughters of King Lear or debunk the absurd idea that a woman is no more than a gullible Desdemona, a naive Ophelia, or a shrewish Kate who must be tamed.”
“We will be studying the history plays, as I previously indicated. I have little interest in psychology which is, after all, a recent addition to the humanities and may well not survive into the twentieth century.”
“That’s absurd!” Kelly popped forward on her folding chair. “Psychology is the hope of the future. Psychology will, in time, prove that women are equal to men.”
“That is your opinion, Miss Kelly. The psychologists I have met seem to me to have a derogatory opinion of women.”
“Because they are all men! But the science of psychology holds great promise. All we need is for women to take up the subject and elevate it to its rightful place.”
Dr. Morton pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, pulled his gold watch from his vest pocket, and reviewed the time before answering. “As of now, there is no science of psychology, Miss Kelly. There is merely theory. On the other hand, it is a fact that teachers are required to teach Shakespeare’s history plays in the public schools, and they are not adequately prepared to do so.”
“Clearly the curriculum of the schools needs to be changed,” Kelly retorted.
Dr. Morton turned his attention to his notes and took a maddeningly long time gathering them into his worn leather briefcase.
“Don’t you agree, Dr. Morton?” Kelly demanded.
He clasped his briefcase shut, bobbed his head forward so that his glasses would slide down his nose, and ignoring Kelly’s question, addressed the class. “Your assignment is to read Henry IV, Acts I, II, and III, before Monday. I bid you a good day.” When he smiled with a definite twinkle in his eyes, Sarah struggled to suppress the laugh gurgling up in her throat.
Kelly stood. “Dr. Morton, I insist you address my question before leaving.”
“‘All’s well that ends well,’ Miss Kelly, and this class is ended.” He threaded his way through the students, humming a tune as he went, and exited the tent.
“Well, I never!” Kelly exploded.
“What was that he was humming?” another teacher asked.
“Who cares?” Kelly demanded. “He’s obviously an idiot. Clearly out of his head.”
“I don’t think so,” Sarah observed as she rose from her chair. “He was humming ‘Rule, Britannia.’”
CHAPTER 29
By late Friday, Riverford buzzed with talk of the extraordinary—and in some minds, outrageous—travel arrangements of the Boyds and Hodges. Of Victoria, they expected nothing less than unusual—some would say outlandish—behavior, but Christine’s plan to accompany her created the debate Victoria had predicted. The two camps formed. The Logans, the Reverend Neville, and the more progressive ladies of the literary society paid visits to both Christine and Victoria to encourage them and offer aid. The opposition party, led by Mrs. Bellows, of course, ignored Victoria and descended on Christine en masse on Saturday morning.
Mrs. Bellows trumpeted the theme of their visit as they ascended the steps of the Boyd porch and found Christine sitting on the swing with her little girls. “You simply cannot do this!”
Louise Proper tried a softer approach as she hovered over Christine. “My dear, your poor bereaved mind is deranged. We pray it is a temporary derangement, of course, but as your friends, we are committed to protecting you from the mistaken path your noble nature is leading you along. That Mrs. Hodges—”
“Girls,” Christine interrupted her as she addressed her daughters. “Please run tell Nancy to bring some lemonade for our visitors.” When Ceci and Juli just stared up at the melodramatic ladies, Christine rose and added, “Go! Our guests must have refreshment.”
As the girls scooted away, Christine turned to her uninvited guests, and waving to the comfortable collection of wicker chairs on the shady porch, said, “Please have seats, ladies. What a pleasure it is to see you, and how fortunate you have come at this time. Since I made the decision to leave town for a few weeks, I have been so concerned that some might think my behavior a bit peculiar.”
“A bit peculiar?” Fanny Sharp respo
nded as she plopped onto a settee. “More than peculiar, I would say. Outrageous! My dear Mrs. Boyd, your decision is scandalous, and we, your dearest friends, have come to advise you.”
Christine sighed and put on a bright smile. “I am so relieved. I knew I could depend on you, dear ladies. You see, I am afraid that some will be critical of my decision, and heaven only knows what they might say behind my back ...”
“Dreadful things are being said!” Mrs. Bellows exclaimed as she jerked her outdated ruffled bustle aside and lumbered into the seat of the nearest chair. “Appropriate action must be taken immediately.”
“Your reputation is at stake, my dear.” Mrs. Proper joined the circle, pursing her lips as she clasped her hands into a white-knuckled grip. “And once a lady loses her reputation …”
“Yes, yes, I agree.” Christine gave a solemn nod. “A lady cannot be too careful, especially a Christian lady.”
Mrs. Bellows scanned her friends’ faces, and they nodded back at her. She took Christine’s hand and, arranging her features in a portrait of melodramatic concern, looked up at her. “My dear Christine, you need worry no more. We are here.”
“I am so thankful,” Christine answered, “for friends like you, who understand the necessity of my ruffling society a bit in order to help a friend in need.”
Fanny Sharp drew back in alarm. “Are you referring to Mrs. Hodges?”
Christine smiled. “I can see that you, too, have been praying for dear Victoria and begging God to show you how to help her.”
“No!” Mrs. Sharp exclaimed. “Well … I mean … well, her name is on the prayer list at church, of course, and I always say a quick prayer for all those on the list … but Mrs. Hodges—”
“Has risen to the top of your list.” Christine walked to Fanny’s side, and perching on the settee next to her, patted her hand. “You must not be ashamed to admit it, Fanny. It is perfectly logical that you would pray hardest for the most afflicted in our community.”
“But I haven’t—”