The Revenant (5 page)

I knew why. He was more gentlemanly than any boy who’d ever tried to court me in Columbia. And he’d seemed pleased to see me. Surely his eyes had brightened when he recognized me. But now I was no longer a girl to him. I was a teacher. A spinster in service. A frump.

The young men purchased treats for the girls from the ice cream saloon. Nothing was offered to me. My purpose was merely to hover at the edge of their party like prissy Miss Kirtley, ready to shake my finger at any pair who dared sit too close or speak too intimately. I followed them to a large and handsome brick structure—the sign told me it was the capitol building—bordered by a grassy lawn shaded by trees. As if long accustomed to this routine, the cousins sat together under a tree, arranging their skirts carefully, while the young men sat a cautious distance away. Lucy stood behind the girls, arms crossed at her chest. I leaned against a nearby tree, wondering if I should fly up to a branch to perch over them, vulture-like. Instead, I sighed, prepared to be thoroughly bored.

“We had a run-in with the ghost last week,” said Fannie cheerfully, as if speaking of a friendly encounter on the street.

“Fannie!” gasped Lelia, her eyes darting toward me.

“Oh, don’t get in a tizzy, Lelia,” said Fannie. “She won’t say anything. After all, she
lives
with it.”

Eli looked toward me, his eyebrows raised in alarm. “What are you talking about, Fannie?”

“Miss Crenshaw gave her Ella’s room,” said Alice, pouncing on the opportunity to join the conversation. “None of the girls would stay there. Isn’t that right, Lucy?”

Lucy merely frowned in response.

“How did Ella drown?” I asked abruptly.

There was a pause as they glanced at each other.

“That is,” I continued awkwardly, “if I’m to stay in her room, I should be privy to the details.”

“No one really knows,” said Larkin finally. “Her body washed up on the bank of the river south of town.”

“It was an accident,” Eli said, fiddling with his hat.

Alice tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know what people say, Eli Sevenstar.”

He set the hat down and fixed her with a hard stare. “About what?”

“About Cale.”

Larkin frowned. “That’s all nonsense. Cale loved Ella.”

Alice held up a finger. “But they’d been at odds before she died.”

“He was a wild boy,” said Fannie with a sniff. “Hardly civilized at all. I’m sure he wouldn’t have thought twice about holding Ella under the water when he caught her looking elsewhere.”

Larkin’s eyes widened. “He had a temper, but Cale never would have hurt her.”

“Then why,” asked Alice, “did he leave the same night she died?”

“Maybe because Ella drove him mad with her flirting and moodiness?” Eli’s voice was harsh.

“Ella was not a flirt!” Lucy spoke for the first time, her eyes flashing. “She loved to have fun, and Cale couldn’t bear her liking anyone’s company but his own.”

Fannie stared at Eli, one eyebrow arched. “How interesting to hear you condemn Ella as a flirt when you were in love with her yourself at one time.”

At those words, each head snapped toward Eli, including my own. His jaw tightened. Then he took a breath and looked directly at Fannie.

“I won’t deny that,” he said. “The same was true for every boy at the male seminary. What does that have to do with anything, Miss Bell?”

I cleared my throat, suddenly eager to break their locked gaze. “What if it wasn’t murder? Could it not also be that she … killed herself?”

All of them turned to stare at me.

“No,” said Lucy flatly. “Ella loved life too much. Cale Hawkins had something to do with her death, and he should be punished for it.”

“Cale tried to
stop
her going to the river,” said Larkin, “or at least that’s what the telegram said. Right, Eli?”

Eli stared at the ground, his mouth a thin line.

“What telegram was this?” I asked.

Larkin glanced at Eli in expectation, then shook his head at his friend’s continued silence. “Eli got a telegram from Cale the day after Ella’s body was found.” Larkin spoke slowly to me, as though I were addled in the wits. “It said he tried to stop her, he was sorry, and that he was going to Texas and never coming back.”

“Yes, but we’ve never seen this telegram, have we?” Alice turned to Eli. “Why didn’t you show us?”

Eli did not raise his head. “I showed it to the sheriff. It was no one else’s business.”

“When you consider Cale’s words,” I said, “it sounds like she may have done it deliberately.”

“I’ll never believe it,” hissed Lucy.

“That telegram doesn’t prove she threw herself into the river,” Larkin said. “Maybe it was an accident and Cale couldn’t save her. We’ll never know.”

The group fell into uncomfortable silence. Fannie glanced back and forth between Eli, who still stared sullenly at the ground, and Lucy Sharp, who seemed near to tears. Which one would Fannie choose to torment? Why didn’t someone speak? Remembering why I’d come to town in the first place, I brushed the tree bark from my skirt and cleared my throat again.

“I must post a letter,” I said briskly. “As soon as I return, we’ll make our way back to the seminary.”

“Have you written to your beau, Miss McClure?” Fannie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You must tell us all about him. Do you have a photograph?”

They all turned to look at me, curiosity written plain on their faces. If anyone had bothered to offer me an ice cream earlier, I would have thrown it at Fannie.

“I’ve
not
written to a beau,” I snapped. “You should mind your own business, Fannie.”

The others smirked, but Fannie’s mouth tightened in fury. I would surely pay for my words in the classroom on Monday. Why didn’t I just lie and say I
did
have a beau?

Drat them all.

I clutched my skirts and stalked away. Once free of them, I calmed myself by taking in the details of my surroundings. Men in suits and hats walked purposefully under the awnings of the finer shops, packages in hand. A lady strolled with a baby carriage, two small children skipping behind her. But in the alleys and doorways of the less genteel stores, I caught glimpses of ragged, darker-skinned men slumped against the walls, their faces drawn with hunger or hopelessness. At the livery stable, negroes sweated over the grooming and harnessing of horses, while their Cherokee boss stood to the side with friends, pausing in his conversation to bark orders.

On the post office steps sat a woman in a faded calico dress. Blue eyes stared at me from beneath the flopping brim of her bonnet. In her arms she held a fair-haired boy who breathed noisily through his mouth. Both were ragged and scrawny. A stab of pity moved me to fumble in my purse for a coin.

The woman blushed. “I ain’t taking nothing from an Indian, no matter how fine you and your seminary are.”

I gasped. “But I’m not—”

Before I could finish the sentence, the woman stood and carried the boy away. His vacant blue eyes stared at me over her shoulder.

The postal clerk, a sunburned man with bushy whiskers, looked as though he’d rather be anywhere but behind the counter—the sort of fellow who spent his afternoons fishing and his mornings dreaming of poles and bait. He chewed his mustache in annoyance as I once more fumbled with my purse. Finally, I set the envelope on the counter, smoothing out its wrinkles with both hands.

“I’d like to mail this.”

He took my coins and counted them, slow and deliberate, into his register. He then plucked a stamp out of a drawer and licked the small square thoroughly before pressing it upon my envelope. Finally, he inked his postmark stamp.

“Oh!” I cried, clutching the envelope. “Will that show where the letter is coming from?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Have you never sent a letter before, miss? Of course it will.”

“Could you … Would it be possible to leave off the postmark?”

He sucked at his teeth and stared for a long moment. “No, miss.”

I thought wildly. “What if … you
smudged
it a little, just enough so that it wasn’t clear where it came from? I mean, you’d still have stamped it, yes?”

“Now, why would I do that?”

I reached into my purse and drew out a few more coins. “For this, perhaps?” I put them under the envelope and slid the small pile toward him.

He frowned and made a great show of taking offense. Then his eyes narrowed again, and before I knew it, he’d lifted the envelope and swiped the coins into his hand. With a tight smile, he took the rubber stamp and made a very sloppy job of smearing it on the envelope. He raised an eyebrow at me. I nodded.

And that was that.

Mother
,

I am well. Please use this money toward hiring help. It was earned by honorable means. I will send more when I can
.

Do not attempt to find me. If somehow you do, I will leave this place—a place that is safe and proper for young ladies—and you’ll never hear from me again
.

Willie

Chapter 5

T
HAT EVENING AS
I
PREPARED FOR BED
, a rapping on the door startled me. Uncertain whom to expect, I pulled my shawl about my shoulders and smoothed my hair before opening the door.

Miss Crenshaw stood there, her face grim.

“Miss?” I murmured, taken aback by her frown. “Would you like to come in?”

“I need only speak to you for a moment.”

Suppressing a shiver, I stepped aside for her to enter.

“Miss McClure,” she said after I’d shut the door, “I have learned something that has gravely disappointed me. I found it necessary to come to you immediately and settle this matter.”

This is it
. My throat constricted.
One week and already my freedom has ended
.

“Yes, Miss Crenshaw?”

“When I asked you to chaperone the students today, I entrusted their safety
and
reputations to you.”

The panic I held inside came out in a rush of air.
Everything’s all right
. It was all I could do to nod in response.

“And I expected you to stay with them every moment of their time in town.”

“They were never left alone, miss.”

“Weren’t they?” Her eyes were steely. “Miss McClure, one of your students—one who shall not be named—has confessed to me that you did indeed leave the girls alone, and it was
when they were in the company of young gentlemen.
”

“I did no such thing!” I thought back to the day, retracing our movements. “Well, I did leave the girls for a brief time to post a letter. It was only a few minutes, Miss Crenshaw. They hadn’t even moved when I returned.”

She stared at me for a moment. “Miss McClure, I am at fault for not making something clear about this school. Propriety is of the utmost importance. Do you think Indian girls need not worry about their reputations? They must worry about them even more than white girls! If they are seen alone in the company of young men, they could be ruined by gossip. In turn, the reputation of this school could be damaged beyond repair. The parents of these girls have placed great trust in me to protect their daughters. I shall not allow a teacher to undermine this!”

Every fiber of my being longed to tell her she was being ridiculous, but that would not be playing the part of a teacher. Willie might throw a fit, but Miss McClure must be passive and repentant. So I bowed my head. “Of course not, Miss Crenshaw. It will not happen again.”

She did not speak, but her foot tapped softly.

I looked up and widened my eyes in hopes of appearing deeply contrite. “I am so very sorry, miss.”

“I accept your apology.” Her mouth tightened into a dour smile. “Tomorrow we will have a church service in the chapel. Many of the girls will be there, but some are allowed to attend services in town if they are chaperoned by a teacher. I think it is best that you attend the service here at the school.”

“I understand.”

“Good night, then.”

Once the door had shut behind her, I kicked it … gently. I’d left those girls for mere moments! Nothing could have happened in such a brief time. Miss Crenshaw was a silly old crow for squawking over nothing.

And who’d snitched on me? It had to be Fannie. I’d spoken sharply to her more than once, and for all her simpering refinement, she could not accept my reprimands with grace.

She was out to get me now, I was sure of it.

I steeled myself for bad behavior from Fannie in the days that followed, but after flashing me a triumphant look the morning after my chastisement, she turned distracted rather than vengeful. The senior class continued to be a trial, but as long as I played dagger-eyed Miss Kirtley and gave them loads of written work, the days were manageable.

Assigning compositions in class freed me from actually having to
talk
to the students. The only problem was that written work required marking, and rather than face the fact that I had no idea how to properly evaluate their work, I allowed the papers to pile on my desk. I was in dire need of some spine-bracing advice from Olivia Adair. Unfortunately, she seemed less than inclined to talk to me.

Olivia was polite enough when I met her in the corridors, but she maintained the chilly reserve that began with our disagreement. The other teachers I learned to recognize, to greet in the corridors and exchange pleasantries with, but I did not find them kindred spirits. Their severe hair and spectacles intimidated me, as did their private jests and insiders’ knowledge of the school and community. They were free enough with advice but not with friendship. I did not wish to admit my weaknesses to them.

I was alone. It wasn’t a new feeling, but that didn’t make it easier to endure. I’d never had bosom friends at school, but there had been kind teachers who took an interest in my progress. There’d been servants who thanked me for helping with their work. At the seminary I had no one.

One September night, a storm swept in, and the howling wind and thunder kept me awake for hours. Finally, I dreamed of water and mermaids with dark, streaming hair. Their black eyes were wide and curiously empty, and their hands reached out to me with long, spidery fingers.

I woke to the sound of tapping at the window. It was no mouse in the wall. Flesh prickling, I groped for a match and lit my lamp, cringing as the glass chimney clattered noisily against the base. I stepped quietly to the window and pulled back the curtain. Had the tapping come from outside, or did it originate in the room?

It was impossible to tell, for all I heard was the wind and drumming of rain. I set the lamp down and pulled the bottom window panel upward, gasping as the rain gusted inward and splashed my arms. The night sky was a damp, velvety darkness. I couldn’t see a thing, but nevertheless, I
sensed
something. Movement? A rustling? Perhaps a bird had flapped outside the window, tapping with its spiny feet or beak. I felt around for a nest.

At that moment, the sash cord snapped and the window panel came slicing down like a guillotine blade. I jerked my hand back so fast that I slipped on a damp spot and tumbled backward onto my rump. The lamp crashed to the floor next to me, the flame flickering as the oil reserves seeped into the chimney. Quickly, I tipped it upright and blew out the flame. Then I cowered in the darkness, holding my nearly crushed fingers to my mouth and listening to the wild pounding of my heart. Wrapping my arms around my body, I hunched over and waited for the ceiling to crash, the floor to open beneath me … or something worse.

But nothing happened. The walls and floorboards held steady. No spectral presence oozed its way through the window glass. No one even bothered to pound on my door to ask what the noise was all about. I took several deep breaths until the thumping in my heart eased.

I had just stood on quivering legs when I heard the scream.

It was followed by a tremendous series of thumps from somewhere nearby. The staircase? My head jerked to the door at the sound of voices raised in excitement and clattering footsteps in the corridor. Feeling faint, I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and peeked outside.

Girls were coming out of rooms in their nightgowns, holding lamps, their long hair hanging loose or in braids. Most had eyes wide with fear and confusion, though some looked eager for an adventure. I barked at them to return to their rooms, but they chose not to heed me. Apparently, my limited authority dissolved completely after midnight. There seemed nothing to do but follow them to the central staircase, where other girls looked over the railing to the floor below. I thrust myself between two of them and peered down.

It was quite a spectacle, made more gruesome by the flickering light of student lamps. A girl lay sprawled on the landing of the staircase, sobbing loudly. The girls near her seemed frozen by shock, and no one knelt to help. I’d just worked up the courage to go down to her, as a teacher should, when Miss Crenshaw swept past me and thumped down the stairs to kneel by the girl. In the light of her lamp, I could see Fannie Bell’s face contorted in pain.

The principal touched the girl’s cheek and then raised her lamp. “All students must return to their rooms
immediately.
” She looked up the stairs until her eyes found me. “Miss McClure, come here.”

I stumbled down the steps toward her, brushing past students who’d finally been stirred to action by the principal’s stern voice. “Miss Crenshaw, I tried to get the students back to their rooms, but they paid me no mind.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Your youthful demeanor is a detriment, to be sure. Miss Adair and the others will get them sorted in a moment. I need you for another task. Nurse Gott is in town tonight and must be fetched to stay the night with Miss Bell.” She peered at Fannie. “I suppose we must also wake Dr. Stewart in case she’s suffered a broken bone.”

In the light of the lamp, I saw Fannie’s eyes flutter open.

“Oh, please!” she gasped. “I need the doctor.”

I clutched at my shawl. “You want
me
to fetch them? I don’t know where they live!”

She handed me her lamp. “Take this and find Jimmy—he’ll accompany you into town and point you in the direction of Mrs. Gott’s house. He’ll have to go to the other side of town to fetch the doctor. Sending the both of you will save time.”

I slunk away to find Jimmy in his tiny room near the kitchen. I expected him to be asleep, but instead, he sat up on the bed, his ebony face shining with perspiration in the light of my lamp. The poor fellow slept in his work clothes, and I wondered if this was his choice or if Miss Crenshaw demanded it for the sake of propriety.

“Jimmy?”

He blinked at the sound of my voice. “Trouble, miss?”

“There’s been an accident. We must fetch Nurse Gott and the doctor.”

He quickly laced his boots and, after lighting his own lantern, beckoned me to follow him through the dining hall to the side door. Fortunately, the rain had calmed to a light mist, but I still slipped and lurched on the wet grass as I scrambled to keep up with Jimmy. He stopped short as we neared the boardwalk.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered.

I looked around. “What?”

“Somethin’ strange out here.”

We were standing under my window. My scalp prickled. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t say exactly, but I’ve felt it before and I don’t like it.” He shook his head. “I can almost smell it.”

I sniffed the air, smelling only the rain-soaked grass and earth. “What does
it
smell like?”

He closed his eyes. “Death.”

“Let’s keep moving,” I hissed.

Jimmy held his tongue as we walked down the hill toward the main street. I knew he was a superstitious fool, but I couldn’t help looking back every few steps. Was that a footfall behind me? A shadow to my left? Finally, I fixed my eyes upon Jimmy’s feet as we walked, and that seemed to help.

By the time we reached Downing Street, my flesh had ceased its crawling and I felt like an idiot for allowing Jimmy to spook me. He paused to point me toward a row of small houses several yards off the main street.

“One with the red door is the Gott house. After you fetch her, go on up to the school. Tell Miss Crenshaw I’m on my way with the doc.”

I had to pound on the door before someone finally opened it. A sturdy, dark-skinned Cherokee woman in her nightgown and shawl raised her eyebrow but said nothing. I’d only seen Mrs. Gott a few times and wasn’t sure she recognized me.

“I’ve come from the seminary, Mrs. Gott. A student is hurt, and Miss Crenshaw needs you tonight.”

She stared at me for a moment, her face stern. “Wait here and let me put on some proper clothes.” She shut the door then, leaving me standing alone on her front step.

“Frightful woman,” I murmured, but only a few minutes passed before the door opened again and she emerged, fully dressed and carrying a small bag.

“Doctor coming too?” she asked.

I nodded and we were on our way. Like Lucy Sharp, the woman was blunt in her manner and not given to polite conversation. But her steadiness braced me as we walked back to the seminary.

We found Fannie still lying on the staircase landing, moaning now rather than weeping. Miss Crenshaw sat near her, stroking her temple. Mrs. Gott helped the principal to her feet and knelt by the girl. She put her hands on Fannie’s face, shoulders, and arms, not flinching a whit as the girl cried in pain.

“She’s dislocated her shoulder,” Mrs. Gott pronounced.

“Can we move her?” Miss Crenshaw lifted the lamp to shine it in Fannie’s face. The girl winced.

The Cherokee woman shook her head. “We should wait for the doctor to set it first.”

Jimmy arrived with Dr. Stewart moments later. The doctor was tall, fair-haired, and much younger than I would have expected. He paled visibly upon first seeing Fannie’s crumpled form. Miss Crenshaw smiled with relief to see him, and Fannie stared as though he were an angel even as he applied his hands to the painful dislocation.

“I need to put the shoulder back in the socket,” he said. “Once I’ve wrapped it, we can take her up to the third floor.”