Love and Lechery at Albert Academy

by Dolores Maggiore

  Maybe she thought I was a changeling too. Maybe she was saying, “Change, change back.”

  I really was the same person I had always been. I just hadn’t had a clue who or what I was. Neither did my mother. But she also didn’t know I worried about Civil Rights, Jews, and poverty, and that I thought our family’s daily conversation about the price of tea in China was obnoxious.

  Imagining this typical Mazzini table talk, I thought I’d barf. In my anger, I had ripped apart the envelope. I watched the special art postage stamp float to the ground.

  “Dear Honey” popped out at me. I figured I better sit down for the rest. My mother had a unique way of starting out with terms of endearment only to guillotine me with gnashing words a sentence or two later.

  Settled on the bench in the campus post office, I covered myself with my stadium coat and unfolded the thin blue sheets.

  “I was so sad to leave on Monday.” I was about to crumple the letter when I spotted the words, so proud. That gave me the courage to fold up the entire letter and get my coat on to return to the dorm. This letter merited a more intimate setting.

  Despite the ice, I hurried back to my room. This letter held promise. I wanted to be as authentic as I could when I read my mother’s words “from the heart.” What was it Emily had said? Oh yeah, that my mother smiled right from the heart.

  I flopped onto my bed and read:

  “I was so happy to be a part of your life this past weekend. You let me into your world there at Albert, your world with Katie.

  “I am so proud of you and how you weren’t disrespectful to that awful woman, Miss Craney. She should be ashamed of herself. Your father and I gave you good values—I could certainly see that—and so did Dr. McGuilvry, by the way.

  “You are absolutely correct, though. Honey, I didn’t want this life for you. It will make things harder for you. There will be people who reject you. But I wish you love, richness, and beauty, and I think you have that.

  “Some mothers on the bus had noticed you. They admired how you took me to the bus, how you took care of me. Their daughters hadn’t.

  “Dr. McGuilvry is also quite taken with you. He is such a charming man. No wonder Katie is so lovely. He’s already called me to tell me he’s working on things.

  “Daddy sends his love. I was chatting with him about Aunt Athena. I told him I thought you had inherited a lot of Mazzini genes. He laughed, saying that of course you had his mother’s and his grandmother’s disposition and gifts. But then, he lifted his silly eyebrows and asked if I knew anything about Aunt Athena, any new news.

  “I told him I wondered if you and she were alike. He chuckled and said you were his buddy. ‘Like Athena when she was young?’ I asked. You know, your father is fifteen years older than she, so he taught her sports and protected her when kids picked on her and called her a tomboy.

  “Your father actually phoned her. I didn’t hear what he said, but he passed the phone to me. Athena was full of life and so excited that you’re doing well (except for Miss Craney, but I’m saying novenas, don’t you worry). She would love to visit you and in the meantime, invited you and Katie to her bungalow in Carmel, New York. You’d have to take a bus and change in Danbury, Connecticut. Now, if you do go, make sure to help out.

  “She intends to write but sends her love for now. She wants you to know she has never hidden who she is and has earned a comfortable living and the respect of her peers. She envies you, she said, since she has not had a special person in her life for a while.

  “So, honey, I just wanted to tell you how proud you make us. Whatever Dr. McGuilvry can work out is fine. If he can’t, we will manage quite well. Athena will help and you know Katie will always be in our lives.

  “Thank you sweetheart for letting me in.

  “I love you, Mommy”

  I could hardly read the last lines as my tears were pouring down. The blue-black ink had washed to turquoise; I had to find a blotter to damn up the waterworks.

  Katie entered my room to see me bleary-eyed, hair matted, racing to rip out a blotter from my desk drawer.

  “What happened?” she asked, running over to me.

  I hugged her and smiled through the tears. “You’ve got to read this. It’s poetry!”

  Katie sat in silence, reading and sobbing. She placed her hand on my arm and patted the spot next to her on the bed.

  “We’re so lucky. We really are,” she said.

  We held hands in silence. No more words were necessary.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Normal is as Normal Does

  As we moved closer to Thanksgiving, things at Albert became more and more routine or, as I was learning, normal. The normal ice and sleet of mid-November was upon us. Normal class lectures and partnering up on projects took place. Normal girls shared normal treats sent in normal care packages from normal homes.

  Katie and I were in her room working on some papier-mãché bones for my French catacomb project, trying not to slop too much on the floor. An occasional splash and plop were the only sounds; we weren’t talkative, and the snow outdoors created a soundproofed vacuum in the room.

  We heard a slight tapping and checked the window to see if a bird had gotten stuck on the icy sill. Katie wiped her hands and went to the door.

  I turned around to see a much thinner Dorotea, her hands held together in a prayer-like gesture. The crystals of ice pinging against the windowpane barely broke the silence.

  Dorotea put her index finger to her mouth and entered one slow step after the other. We helped her with her coat and took her bag. Finally, the numbness wore off, and we three embraced in silent tears.

  Dorotea led us over to the bed. We could barely hear her say, “I am so sorry. I was ganz verrucht, truly crazy, deprimiert.”

  “Shush,” said Katie, wiping Dorotea’s tears.

  “Are you all right?” I said out loud, but my head was noisy with questions about where she had come from, who knew she was here, was she safe?

  “Nein. I know I am not good with you, Pina. Can you forgive me, ever?” She burst into tears again, pounding her fist, muttering, “Dummkopf! I was so green with envy, so…”

  “Jealous?” Katie said.

  “Javohl! I was no good, nowhere. No one had time for me. All the girls think I am Brunhilde. I just wished to die.”

  “The pills?” asked Katie. “All those pills you used to sneak into your music box?”

  “Ach!” Dorotea just sobbed.

  I leaned over and put my arms around her shoulders. The sight of her blotchy, puffy face, tear-stained and drawn, upset me more than I thought.

  “I do forgive you. Don’t cry,” I said, feeling totally dumb and useless. “Dorotea, how can we help?”

  “I must to explain. Craney…she made me…tell her things about you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We know she’s crazy.”

  “I thinked I must to go away—she will hurt Pina, but…she made me believe you, Pina, wished to harm me. I could not think what to do. So I run and run.”

  “Where?” Katie asked. “You were supposed to go to your aunt’s.”

  “I know Alda played joke about my aunt’s. I had fear of her too and her father’s friend. I run away, take car ride with guy. I try to take too many pills; I go to hospital, but my aunt, she knew.”

  “Oh shoot, Dorotea, I am so sorry,” I said as the lines of the room started to blur, and I felt like I was being funneled deep into my eyes and the center of my brain. I realized Craney had lied about the whole thing.

  I heard Dorotea as if through a glass held against a wall. “Nein. I—how you say—spill beans on you out to Craney.” Then, she told us that she had nightmares where Craney was Dr. Faustus lusting after our souls. She dreamt that Craney tortured me into selling our souls to her.

  I was almost in tears when Dorotea said she could not bear to live with herself and had to die.

  Both Katie and I put our arms around her. We sat like that in silence for a
good while. I still had so many questions, but they could wait. The important thing was Dorotea. How could I help her? How to take away all that hate? The hate she turned on herself?

  “Dorotea, listen, ‘D,’ can we call you ‘D?’ You’re good, warm, and friendly. You share your food with us. We locked you out. We were not friendly.” I was desperate to help her feel wanted.

  “Ah ja. You call me ‘D.’ I like that, a nigname.”

  “Nickname,” Katie said, stifling a giggle.

  “Did Alda’s father hurt you?” I dared.

  “No. His men had a fight. Some man, big, hairy, ugly had a gun. He point the gun at me. Alda’s father say, ‘Get her fuck out.’ I think he mean to have sex with me.”

  “Oh lord,” I said. “No, D, no one was supposed to see those bad men, but no one was going to rape you.”

  “Alda was always so sexy, I think everyone have sex on mind,” confessed Dorotea.

  “And us?” asked Katie.

  “No, you two don’t want to have anything to do with me.”

  “Huh?” I said. “But you told Craney I was a lesbian.”

  “Ja. She tell me to write that note. I just say you are being a ‘boytom.’”

  “Tomboy, D.” I laughed. “D, I’m not laughing at you; it just sounds funny when someone turns the words around.”

  Katie got a twinkle in her eye. “D, we are really so glad you’re back. You think you still have some Schnapps?”

  “Naturlich!” Dorotea submerged herself amidst lederhosen and dirndls in her closet and emerged with a bottle of kirsch.

  We toasted Dorotea’s return and helped her prepare her story for Craney, whom she hadn’t contacted yet.

  “You tell Craney you were in the hospital. No boyfriend, nothing else. You will call your mother in Germany now and tell her to say she was so upset with you in the hospital, she forgot to call school. Ja?”

  I dictated Dorotea’s plan of action. We couldn’t yet let on to Craney that we knew she had lied, claiming Dorotea’s aunt didn’t know where Dorotea was.

  Dorotea asked what Craney had done with my soul. I gave her the short version so she wouldn’t feel so bad. Besides a new bout of convulsive sobbing, Dorotea’s response was, “But she, Craney, she is sick in the head, yes?”

  “Yes, Katie’s father and his friend, Joe, might be able to prove that.” I crossed my fingers.

  “Gott sei dank!” Dorotea made the sign of the cross.

  “Right,” I said. “Listen, D, I really feel bad that we left you out. I’ve been so afraid that kids would reject me. I know how it feels to be different. Sorry I hurt you.”

  Dorotea gave me a big, slurpy kiss on the cheek. She poured us all another kirsch and hugged Katie within an inch of her life.

  “We will be friends, yes? Yes!” said Dorotea.

  I felt toasty warm with the kirsch and Dorotea’s joy at being accepted. I was trying hard not to be angry with myself for having been so mean to her.

  As if she could read my thoughts, Dorotea approached me and shook me by the shoulder.

  “You know, I did act like an arschloch.”

  Katie frowned. I mouthed, “Asshole.”

  We all laughed as Katie repeated “arschloch” with a terrible accent.

  Dorotea laughed and laughed. “I go see the monster Craney tomorrow about the hospital. Then, I say I do not know nothing about Pina. I was jealous. Das war alles!”

  “Yeah!” I said.

  ****

  “Phew,” I said to Katie as she walked me back to my room with the papier-mãché.

  “Yeah,” Katie agreed. “That solves one problem.”

  “Kat…she tried to commit suicide? I feel so bad.”

  After five minutes of silence, both of us staring at papier-mãché bones for the catacombs project, Katie said, “I am glad she’s back.”

  And so, things continued to go back to normal. We wouldn’t even hold our breath while Dorotea went to see Craney.

  ****

  The next morning, Katie and I escorted Dorotea to breakfast and introduced her to Jocelyn, Emily, Elizabeth, and Christa. Her foreign mannerisms and accent must have refined themselves overnight for the gang to appreciate! The girls actually oohed and aahed over Dorotea’s fictitious story of her two-week Oktoberfest adventure back in Germany.

  We all played with a schneefrau, our German snowlady on our way to French class. I explained Mademoiselle’s equally mysterious disappearance to Dorotea and reassured her she would return shortly.

  Miss Craney spotted Dorotea immediately. Her face froze, followed by a thaw in my direction and a feeble smile. She then proceeded to Dorotea’s desk and snapped “Suivez-moi!” Craney all but yanked her from her desk.

  I showed Dorotea my crossed fingers. I marveled at my calm, and even refrained from listening at the door.

  Dorotea returned at the very end of the class bearing a manila envelope with her final French project. Dorotea had to construct Les Egouts de Paris out of papier-mãché. By assigning us these particular Parisian attractions, Craney had relegated both Dorotea and myself to the netherworld, me to the catacombs, Dorotea to the sewers.

  At lunch, Dorotea told me she tore up the note reading, “Pina is a lez be friends” during the meeting where Craney confirmed the hospital story. Dorotea raved about how welcoming Katie and I had been. Dorotea said, “I almost spit up when Craney said that she was glad you, Pina, and Katie and I were on the same foot!”

  “Getting off on the right foot, dear D.” I giggled back at her.

  Dorotea put her finger to her temple. A broad smile tiptoed across her face. She lowered her voice, leaning into Katie and me.

  “We get back at Fraulein Craney, yes?” Dorotea said.

  “You mean get even?” I asked.

  “Javohl!” Dorotea rubbed her hands together.

  Katie jumped right in, “I can get some of the other girls to help too.”

  “Hmm. What if we found Craney’s diary or letters to Miss Whitfield?” I said. I started to lick my chops and mused, “We could break in—”

  “You wish,” said Katie.

  “No, Katie. I can do this. Wait! I absolutely have to do this. I will break into her office if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll prove Craney’s evil.” I emphasized my words by pretending to wring Craney’s neck.

  “It may just be the last thing you do but not alone, you won’t,” Katie said.

  “Ja, gut. I know where secret files are. Craney had my letter there. Und der schlussel, yes, I know where it is too.”

  “The key?” I was ecstatic. “Okay, I’m going to do this.” I was already on my feet.

  Katie already seemed to be setting alarms and schedules in her head. She kept checking her watch.

  “Psst!” Katie called over to Christa, Jocelyn, Elizabeth, and Emily at the other end of the table. She pulled them aside.

  “Sitz.” Dorotea pulled me back to my seat. “Tonight,” she whispered.

  “Yeah! First, we make sure Craney stays out of her office.” Then, I called down to Katie, “Katie, can you and the gang stage a distraction to get Craney out of her office?”

  By the looks of it, Katie had the plan worked out: the girls would stage a snowball fight outside Craney’s office. Craney would come out, and they would graciously invite her to join in the fun, followed by hot chocolate and baked goodies from Jocelyn’s mom in the dorm. Katie was beaming. “That will give us a full hour for the heist,” she said.

  Dorotea clapped her hands and giggled. “Gute, gute, gute! And you know where she keeps the key, Pina? In her Modess box!”

  “Yuck!” I said. “With her sanitary napkins?”

  Dorotea set the time for seven and made all of us synchronize our watches.

  I knew this was crazy, but I really had to dig deep and find that one thing that would really clear us all and teach Craney not to mess with me or anyone else!

  “Katie,” I wiped all kidding from my face and voice, “I will get the goods on Cran
ey and help write that article with Joe one way or another!”

  “Okay, Pina…You did say you wanted to go out in a blaze of glory.” Katie laughed, but I knew she took me seriously.

  ****

  At seven, we separated into two groups. The snowballers stationed themselves in the unplowed area outside Craney’s windows. They started taking aim at the shutters nearest to the window with the light.

  Katie, Dorotea, and I waited until they had lobbed a few close to the pane, and we saw Craney exit the building, bundled against the weather.

  We heard the gang deflect Craney’s attempts at scolding with giggling and flattery. They danced around her, saying they had seen her play tennis and were very impressed with her muscular forehand. When Craney actually bent down to make a snowball, we snuck into the building.

  Dorotea pulled a special German hairpin from her braids and opened Craney’s door. She immediately went for the Modess box and shook out the key to the files.

  “Now, I will show you the underground files,” she said. With one swift stroke, she moved Craney’s massive chair and flipped up the rug from underneath. Bits of Craney’s dried skin and fingernails flicked to the floor. There was the trapdoor with the secret files.

  “I’ll take the file marked staff,” said Katie.

  I grabbed the 1954 box. Dorotea used the key to open the files and started to tackle the poetry file.

  Katie got the first hit. “Miss Whitfield’s reviews are stellar. Miss Craney commented, ‘Miss Whitfield’s enthusiasm for her subject is contagious. If I were a student, I would take every one of her classes.’”

  “I bet,” I said.

  Dorotea found Shakespearean sonnets and poems by Lovelace and Suckling addressed to E.W. But not pay dirt.

  I checked my watch. Only fifteen minutes left. Then, bingo! I found gold. A letter.

  “Hey guys, listen!” I said, starting to read the letter:

  “My dearest Emily,

  I lie here alone, pining for you. You have not come to me. Last night when you pushed me out of your room, I feared your cries would alert others. You force me to take desperate measures. You will come to me tomorrow or I will see to it that you leave my sight for good.