The Revenant (2 page)

Chapter 2

I
KEPT MY EYES ON THE WOMAN
but could feel the ladies turn to me as if they were trying to get a better look.

The woman’s stern expression did not change, though her eyes narrowed in appraisal. “My goodness, you are young,” she finally said, without offering her hand. “I was not certain when you would arrive. I am Harriet Crenshaw, principal of the Cherokee Female Seminary.”

The lady they called Fannie drew near, her eyes bold. “Miss Crenshaw? Lelia is looking rather peaked. She has cut herself upon the broken porcelain. Might we send for Dr. Stewart?”

The principal shook her head. “Of course not. He has better things to do than tend to clumsy girls. No doubt you are all so excitable today because you have cinched your stays too tightly.” She gestured at Fannie’s elegant figure. “I expect you in uniform, Fannie. No more of these ridiculous and unhealthy refinements. You know the rules.”

Fannie dropped her gaze demurely. “Classes do not begin until Wednesday, Miss Crenshaw.”

“Yes, but new students are arriving already, and I expect seniors to set a proper example.”

I turned from the ladies to Miss Crenshaw. “Seniors?”

The principal stared at Fannie, ignoring my question. “Do you hear me, Fannie Bell?”

Tension thickened the air. After a moment, the lady’s stiff shoulders softened. “Yes, ma’am.”

Victory in hand, Miss Crenshaw swept out of the room. I had no choice but to follow. I grabbed my case in the vestibule and scrambled up the stairs after her.

“Are those young ladies
students
, Miss Crenshaw?” The question came out in gasps, for I struggled to keep up with her. “I felt quite sure they must be teachers.”

“They are indeed students, and officers of the Minervian Literary Society,” she replied evenly. “They met today to plan the year’s events; otherwise, they would not yet be at school. They are only seventeen years of age, but they give themselves airs. You must not let them intimidate you.”

How could I not?

“But, Miss Crenshaw, I thought this was a school for Cherokee girls only. That is what I understood from your letter.”

“They
are
Cherokee. Indeed, they are from one of the foremost Cherokee families in this territory.” She paused on the landing to turn and look at me. “You wonder at their fair skin and light eyes? I was surprised too when I first arrived. They are mixed-blood. And they think highly of themselves for it.”

“Are you …?” I couldn’t think how to ask it politely.

“Am I Cherokee? No. There has never been a Cherokee principal of the seminary. Only now, after forty years of operation, are we finding qualified Cherokee teachers.” We’d reached the second floor, and she turned to face me. “You should know, Miss McClure, that the Cherokee are well nigh
obsessed
with education. This seminary was the first institution of higher education west of the Mississippi. I’m certain you’ll be satisfied with our high standards.”

I gulped, having no idea how to respond. She merely raised an eyebrow before turning away and leading me to the first door on the right. Opening it, she gestured me inside.

The room was made large by the narrowness of the bed at the center. A small desk and wooden chair stood against the opposite wall near a cast-iron radiator—something I’d only seen in the most recently constructed buildings back home. My eyes were drawn to the golden light streaming through the bay windows. A large chiffonier stood between the windows, but even so, I could see the wall was curiously curved. I gaped like a child. This curved bay was formed from one of the turrets I’d marveled at when walking toward the school.

By no means was it an
elegant
room, but compared to what I’d grown accustomed to, it was quite spacious and well appointed. And wouldn’t Papa have been delighted to know that his princess lived in a turret?

“I trust this room is sufficient?” asked Miss Crenshaw after a moment.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Very much so.”

“It
was
a student room. Four girls slept here in two beds, but we’ve had changes in enrollment and those girls are now situated elsewhere. I thought it would make a spacious dwelling for our new teacher.” She gestured toward the windows. “You’ll get a nice breeze during the warm months, and steam heat keeps us cozy enough in the winter.”

“I am very grateful, Miss Crenshaw.”

We stood in awkward silence for a moment. Had I not thanked her sufficiently? Fortunately, I was saved by the sound of swishing fabric at the door. We both turned to find a lady standing there—surely
this
was a lady teacher and not a student, for though she was much younger than the principal, she had the stiff spine and graceful bearing of one who held authority. Her eyebrows, however, were arched in surprise.

“Ah, Miss Adair,” said Miss Crenshaw. “Meet your new colleague, Miss Angeline McClure. She hails from Columbia, Tennessee, and is a graduate of their Athenaeum.”

The lady’s vague alarm melted into a smile as she stepped closer. Her eyes were dark and prettily framed by long lashes. She took my hand and grasped it firmly.

“Olivia was once my student, and a very fine one at that,” said Miss Crenshaw. “She is one of a select group of Cherokee ladies who have both studied and taught at the seminary. So you see, Miss McClure, how far these girls have come from their humble beginnings?”

Miss Adair lowered her head. It wasn’t clear whether she was pleased or embarrassed by the principal’s praise.

Before I could speak, Miss Crenshaw lifted her brooch watch and clucked her tongue. “There is so much to do and already it is nearly time for supper. Olivia, will you take Miss McClure on the tour?”

Miss Adair led me back downstairs and paused first at the parlor door. The room glowed softly in the late-afternoon light. I stepped inside, bracing myself for the eerie blast of cold air. But I did not shiver, nor did gooseflesh prickle my arms. The room was quite warm. Had I imagined the earlier chill?

“The girls do not spend much time here,” said Miss Adair, “unless it is to clean the room or, more rarely, to receive family or visitors from the male seminary.”

“There is a Cherokee Male Seminary as well?” I asked.

“Oh yes. Its enrollment is not as high as ours, and their building is much older, but it’s a fine school. You will see the male students in town, and they will visit here from time to time.”

Across from the vestibule stood a library with handsomely arching windows and endless shelves of books. Tables and chairs gleamed in the warm light, and I was certain a gloved finger traced along the wood’s surface would remain pristinely white. We moved on to view several classrooms full of wooden desks, the sight of which made my stomach flutter. At the far end of the building was a high-ceilinged chapel, full of desks rather than pews, that extended into another large room set up as a study hall. We completed our first-floor tour by making our way to the other end of the building, past more schoolrooms and around the corner to a grand dining hall that could seat hundreds of girls.

Rustic mission school, indeed.

On the second floor, Miss Adair pointed out the cavernous lavatories with their rows of sinks and curious water closets with flush toilets. We even peered into a student room comparable in size to mine but crowded by two larger beds and additional furnishings. The windows were shaded with pretty gingham curtains, while crocheted doilies brightened the desk and small side tables.

“Are all the rooms furnished with such homey adornments?”

Miss Adair smiled. “The students often bring items with them. Some of the more fortunate girls bring their own dressers and beds. These girls knew they would be coming back to this very room, and so they left some of their decorative furnishings behind.” She closed the door. “It’s a little different upstairs.”

“Are there more students upstairs?” I asked as we continued down the corridor.

Miss Adair frowned. “Yes. The primaries reside above and take their lessons there as well.”

“Primaries? They are little children, then?”

“Some are small children. A considerable number are country girls over the age of twelve who are not quite as … 
advanced
as the other students. Their circumstances are less fortunate, and thus they must work for their tuition. Miss Crenshaw keeps them upstairs together to protect them. The girls from town are not as gentle with them as they should be.”

“I well remember how it feels to be teased and condescended to as a charity case,” I said absently, then cringed at my own stupidity. Angeline McClure had never been condescended to in her life.

Miss Adair looked at me searchingly for a moment before continuing. “The infirmary is upstairs as well, though many of the upper-school girls loathe to go there. They think they’ll catch lice from the primaries.” She paused by a door. “This is my room.”

The door opened to a room smaller than mine—the same narrow bed, a wooden chair and desk, but a single window rather than the curved bay with two windows. Books were stacked unevenly on the desk and beneath her window. A small dresser stood near the door. The room was crowded and stuffy, but she’d enlivened it with a cheerful bed quilt and white curtains edged with lace.

“It’s charming,” I said.

Miss Adair shrugged. “Most of the teachers have rooms like this. You were given a room meant for four or more girls.” She did not look at me as she spoke, and her hands fluttered as though she were nervous.

“Is there a reason I was given a student room?”

She met my gaze then, and something in her expression made the back of my neck tingle. Sorrow darkened her eyes, but also … fear? She opened her mouth, and I leaned forward, expecting something lurid to pour from her lips.

“Well,” she said, and then lowered her voice to a whisper, “it may not be my place to tell you—”

Footsteps thumped in the corridor, and Miss Adair clamped her mouth shut. I turned to find Miss Crenshaw gliding toward us, her petticoats hissing on the wood floor and a frown on her face.

“Whispering in the corridors already, ladies? Surely Miss McClure wishes to rest before supper.”

“Yes, Miss Crenshaw,” said Miss Adair. She turned to smile at me. “I look forward to speaking with you later.” With a nod to the principal, she entered her room and shut the door.

Miss Crenshaw walked me to my room, following closely as if I might bolt at any moment. “Supper is at six,” she said briskly as we walked. “Our gathering will be small and informal. As for tomorrow, we ordinarily rise at five-thirty sharp, but as classes are not yet in session, the bell will ring an hour later than usual. Breakfast will be served in the dining hall at seven o’clock, followed immediately by Chapel.” She paused before my door. “Until supper, then.”

“Yes, Miss Crenshaw.” But she was already walking away, and I was not sure she even heard me.

Supper was quiet, with teachers and students seated together at one table. The girls from the parlor were not there, and I breathed a little easier in their absence. Miss Adair kindly made introductions, but I was too tired to do more than smile and nod. I forgot the names almost instantly. A negro man called Jimmy served us a baked hash with bread and vegetables, the smell of which made my stomach groan in anticipation. Eating so preoccupied me that I said little to the others at the table. I would strive to make a better impression the next day.

What a relief to finally retire to my very own room for the night! I opened the windows of my turret and sat in the evening air. The breeze wasn’t much cooler than the still air in the room, but it was fresh and smelled of cut grass. I stared out onto the boardwalk that led down toward town but could see little. Faint lights sparkled in the distance, but the seminary lamps had been extinguished. All was dim and quiet outside this fortress.

When I felt cooler, I unpacked my case by lamplight. It was a rather pathetic collection of items. A nightgown, which I placed on the bed. Two shirtwaists and one skirt. Very worn underclothes, patched in a few places, but soft from many washings. A heavy shawl, which made me sweat to look upon it. The last item was a fine black cape with a ruffled collar and a satin bow at the neck. I placed it around my shoulders and studied my reflection in the chiffonier mirror. Very handsome it was, and very unhandsome I’d been in taking it. I shrugged the cape off and folded it carefully, placing it with the other items in the chiffonier.

All that remained in my bag was my father’s three-volume set of Shakespeare’s complete works and, within the first volume, a faded tintype of him in full costume as Orlando in
As You Like It
. He was very young when the photo was taken—he’d not yet met my mother and surely thought himself quite the dandy. I sat upon the bed and gazed at the image, wanting to touch it, as though petting a photograph would bring me comfort. But I did not wish to cause damage with my sweaty hands.

I placed the photo back between the pages of the volume.

That was everything I owned. Father’s gold watch had been sold, as had my good coat. I’d needed the money for the train fare and one night’s stay at a respectable inn along the way.