The Perplexity Of Family

February 10, 1897

Penelope Sumter

February 2, 1897

Dearest Penelope,

I realize this letter will arrive too late to be of any use beyond the comfort it brings me to pen it. At long last I am leaving for Providence and will be with you soon after this letter arrives or possibly even before. What a laugh that would be!

I should have left with you and never looked back, but even though I know I will never meet with father’s approval, I still find myself trying. No more though, not for me. It is past time I stood on my own and made my own way in this world. In Providence I have the opportunity and means to do so and I get to be close to you while I am about it. I do not expect you will understand, not because you are a woman but because you are not a second born son.

I leave our childhood home today with the realization I left it for the last time, months ago when I first accompanied you to Primrose College. Had I known then all that I know now, I would never have come back at all. Father and James cut me out of affairs a long time ago for reasons I may never understand. Today, I cut them off and for reason they will likely never understand, know or think to know. Shed no tears for me little sister, I am happy for once and that alone tells me I am doing what it right for me.

Although I am aware you tire of my mentioning her name, please tell Elizabeth I will see her soon. There is much to be discussed, much to be done, and a world to change.

Love,

Wilbur Sumter

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

February 3, 1897

Dear Penelope,

It is my sad duty to inform you our brother Wilbur is no longer a welcome member of our family. His obsession with Miss Bassett has irreparably clouded his judgment and blinded him to the realities of this world. When Mother attempted to talk some sense into him, he flew into a rage and beat her with his bare fists. Mother is strong and will recover in time, but there is no room in our home for such a monster.

Father had a warrant sworn out on Wilbur this morning, but it seems he has already fled. Should he contact you, as he well might because of your proximity to Miss Bassett, send a message to me at once and do not let him know you are aware of what he has done or he might harm you as well. I have no affection for Miss Basset but I would not wish our demented brother on anyone, it would be best if you could keep her away from him if at all possible.

A man by the name of William Howe is on his way to Providence now. It would be most wise of you to assist him in convincing Miss Basset to accompany him out of Providence until such time as Wilbur can be apprehended. Mr. Howe will contact you when he arrive, but it is imperative you keep your contact discreet. Above all, Miss Waters must not be aware of his presence or she will undoubtedly complicate matters and endanger the lives of everyone.

Wilbur has lost his head and there is no sadder duty than to confront your own blood in the way we must. You are a strong woman like our mother and I know you will do what you must. Father and I are very proud of you, little sister.

Sincerely,

J. Sumter

In Closing With Open Eyes

Penelope Sumter
December 31, 1896

Elizabeth this! Miss Bassett that! If Wilbur says her name just one more time this year I swear I will kill him in his sleep tonight. Lucky for him, the year is almost over. The two of them were nearly impossible to be around for the drive home and watching them say goodbye at the train station was pure hell and to make it worse, hell had frozen over, complete with icicles and lots of yellow and brown snow.

The two hours from there to home with Wilbur might as well have been two hours alone for all we spoke. What do you say to a man who is living in a fantasy world and fails to notice the road signs? If anyone knows the answer to that, keep it to yourself because I am not interested in the slightest anymore. When the day comes that Wilbur walks head first into reality, I want to be there watching and laughing as payback for this trip.

Mother was her usual self for the holidays. Annoying, annoyed and a complete annoyance. If she was ever a pleasant woman it was long before she met my father and a decade at minimum before I was born. I really do not know how my father tolerates her constant bickering. Maybe she is why he prefers to work all the time and always seems grumpy.

“Do you call this clean Penelope?” She asked inspecting my clothing that first day home. We had been in my bedroom with no one else around still she felt the need to add my name into every criticizing sentence leaving her mouth.

“This packing is atrocious Penelope.”

I know. They made me do it myself and I broke two nails getting the cases closed! Why could father not have sent me to a more decent institution?

I held my tongue.

“Did I raise you to be a slob Penelope?”

Maybe not, but you did not raise me to do hard or industrious work either. I am supposed to supervise servants doing chores not doing them myself.

I bit my cheek to smile pleasantly despite the words throbbing in my temple.

Eventually she set her sights on Wilbur and I was grateful to be alone. Unfortunately solitude was not to be mine for more than seconds. Jason entered my room only minutes behind mother. He was no more pleasant to see.

I did not believe him at first but the rest of vacation has proven his word the truth. He claimed my father was so angry he did not wish to see or hear me during the holidays. It seems Wilbur was told not to bring me home nor to bother coming himself but rather than listen, he chose to ignore the message. On the one hand I completely understand why Wilbur would ignore it but on the other I cannot help thinking we might have enjoyed ourselves more in his flat.

So it would seem father believes I am an embarrassment to him because of my associations and actions at Primrose College. The amusing part is he and Jason seem to believe Miss Bassett is some sort of woman’s liberation activist. If she knew she would be tickled pink but in reality she is just another girl in a woman’s college with dreams of a better future than past. If that is a political movement then the entirety of the human race is a member.

Between the hate from Jason and the love from Wilbur, I am sick of hearing about my roommate. You cannot blame me, it is as if my existence has somehow become secondary to hers even in my own family. When Jason and Wilbur began arguing about her again this afternoon I lost hold of my tongue and I think it was perfectly understandable.

“If Miss Bassett is so Goddamn important to you both why the hell aren’t you both with her? I don’t give a crap what she said to whom and when or why she said it. She’s a snobbish brat with impulse control problems who likes to pretend she’s from a better home than she is. That doesn’t make her the devil or an angel it just makes her like almost every other girl in Primrose College and they all have one damn thing in common, they aren’t me!” I shouted.

It felt good to shout. It felt like the whole world finally fell silent and opened its lazy ears and eyes to notice I existed. Wilbur and Jason both stared at me, mouths agape waiting for flies. Mother glared. Father walked into the room for the first time since I have been home.

“Watch your language Penelope.” Mother scolded.

“I would like to see you in my study Penelope.” Father said.

If mother was the determining factor I would have been certain I was heading for a proper whipping but the look in father’s eye told me his request had an entirely different basis. I rose and walked quietly to my father’s study. He closed the doors behind us and then pulled a chair out for me. It was a polite gesture but one he has not extended to me in a very long time. He sat behind his desk, his hands folded on top of it.

“We have important matters to discuss. I have not wanted to burden you with knowledge you do not need but things have changed. A new year is beginning and with it I have decided it is time for a new start between us. You must never repeat what is said in this room today, beyond these walls. Do you understand?” He said.

“No, but I think I will.” I said.

He nodded.

“It time you knew the truth about Primrose. I wish it were not necessary, but your world is about to change forever.” He said.

It was my turn to nod. Then he told me everything.

The Third Wheel

December 16, 1896
Penelope Sumter

“What is she doing here?” I demanded.

Wilbur glared at me with annoyance blatant in his eyes. Elizabeth bit at her lip and looked as if she wished to be anyplace but where she was. On this we were agreed.

“Where are your manners?” Wilbur demanded back.

“I don’t see how we have time to go to New York and still make it home in time for Christmas.” I said.

“She is going to Florida and I told her we would take her as far as Charleston.”

“There is a train station just outside of town. Why can’t we drop her there?”

“Because I said so. Now stop being so rude.”

I climbed into the automobile next to Wilbur and decided it was time to keep my thoughts to myself. No point in making a scene especially when it is obvious there will not be a satisfactory result.

Wilbur took several minutes to arrange my bags in the boot. He must have been in a good mood because he did not complain I was taking too much. Still looking annoyed, he slammed the boot closed and got in behind the driving wheel. Moments later we were cruising toward home.

“I thought you two were friends.” Wilbur said.

“We’re roommates.” We replied in unison.

“Why is everyone assumes because we share a room, we are friends?” I continued alone.

“You are friends.” Wilbur said.

Elizabeth remained notably silent.

“Says who?” I asked.

“Anyone who ever watches the two of you interact.” Wilbur replied.

“Looks can be deceiving.” I said.

“Do you really dislike me that much?” Elizabeth asked.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” Wilbur asked.

“Nothing.” I said.

“That generally works better when you keep your mouth shut.” Wilbur said.

I gave him my annoyed look and then stuck my tongue out at him. Elizabeth giggled. Wilbur stopped the automobile. You would think on the way home for Christmas he would have a sense of humor at least.

“If I have to stop the auto again, you’ll be going over my knee. Understood?” Wilbur said.

“Yes, Wilbur.” I replied.

“That goes for you also Miss Bassett. I expect the two of you to be well behaved for the entire trip and if you can’t manage it, I will do so for you.”

“Yes, Mr. Sumter.” Elizabeth replied.

“As for you,” Wilbur shook his index finger in my direction, “ I believe you owe Miss Bassett an apology.”

“What for?” I asked.

“For being a rude, inconsiderate brat.” Wilbur said.

“I was not.” I said.

“Were too.” Elizabeth said.

“Was not.” I said.

“Were too.” Elizabeth said.

“Enough!” Wilbur shouted.

“Relax Will, It’s almost Christmas.” I said.

He shook his head at me.

“I must be crazy to be driving with two women.”

Elizabeth and I were smart enough not to agree verbally although we were both nodding our heads. Wilbur decided to ignore it and started the car again. I know I should not feel like I do about Elizabeth being with us. Maybe I am jealous of her growing relationship with Wilbur or maybe I just needed some time away from her. Either way, it will be a long trip home and I am sure Wilbur will be stopping along the way.

We were all silent for a few miles. I guess we all had our own thoughts to keep us busy. Mine were about pushing Elizabeth out of the automobile while we were still driving. I can only imagine what her and Wilbur were thinking.

"Are we there yet?" Elizabeth asked.

My head nearly hit the dashboard, Wilbur stopped so fast. I would like to say I enjoyed watching her get spanked. Unfortunately, it was obvious they were both enjoying it way too much. I am not quite sure how I can be a third wheel in an automobile built on four, but I am.

In The Moment

December 11, 1896
Penelope Sumter

I am cold.

The fire provides no warmth for me. My father would not approve. Wilbur would not even approve and if they would agree, then I must be very bad indeed. I wrapped the blanket tighter around me and moved closer still to the fire.

I noticed him from the beginning. His secretive glances were not lost on me although I pretended not to notice. Sometimes he seemed oblivious to me but that was just part of the charade. His wandering eyes are not for me alone, but they are mine for this moment.

And sometimes a moment is everything.

I remember the first time our fingers brushed. It was like a static shock between us. I jerked away as though burned in the fire but my eyes were filled with wonder. I think he saw it because he looked deep into me and then winked before turning away and moving on. I told myself it was only my imagination.

But dreams fill the emptiness.

There is something in his shoulders or maybe it is his smile. When I gaze upon him, the world fades. Only he and the things he touches are vibrant and alive. Is it wrong that I wanted to be vibrant and alive? No, I think we all are searching for that feeling. It eludes us in shadows and the dark corners where angels fear to tread, but I am no angel.

I am beautiful.

His eyes make no secret of his desires. His course hands on my soft skin sends a shiver from Heaven down my spine. The gentle touch of his lips on my earlobe followed by a nibble, forced my eyes closed. Every rational thought was banished as his fingers ran through my hair.

Steady fingers unfastened the buttons holding my dress up. It fell free to the floor, guided by gravity and his hands. An unsteady breath in the moment and my trembling fingers found the buttons on his shirt. One by one they slipped through the fabric until flesh and hair were all that existed between us.

And time was without meaning.

The floor was our bed. Our lips met with passion and left with the taste of sweet sweat. Hot and wet we rolled into each other, again and again. The flame of his desire devoured me from head to toe. His tongue caressed me until I could only lie limp in his arms.

But my heart would not be still.

Charles Birchwood can never be mine for more than a moment. I will take what I can and I promise not to mourn that which I cannot. The fire crackles in his fireplace as he adds another log. His warm arms wrap themselves around me and hold me close to his chest. It feels safe and secure, but it is illusion.

I am cold.

The Split Carrot Snowman

December 3, 1896
Penelope Sumter

The manor was dark as I crept quietly down the stairs. After every few steps I stopped and listened just to be certain there was no one else around. I tiptoed into the general study and closed the door as quietly as possible. I nearly knocked Michelle down when I turned around to face the room.

I raised my finger to my lips to shush the girls’ giggles in the room. Surprising to me was the room was packed. I knew the new girls were hardly a righteous bunch but I had no idea it would be so easy to corrupt so many of them.

“Do we have everything?” I whispered.

“I think so.” Michelle replied.

“Be certain before we go out.”

Michelle nodded and then turned to the others.

“Carrot?” Michelle asked.

“Here.” A girl held it up for all to see.

“Two pieces of coal?” Michelle asked.

“Here.” Another girl held up the coal.

“Eight buttons?” Michelle asked.

“I have them.” A shy girl said from the back.

“Scarf?” Michelle asked.

A girl waved it in the air without a word.

“Mr. Carrington’s hat?” Michelle asked.

One of the girls tossed it in the air and then neatly caught it with a smile and a wink.

“That’s everything.” Michelle said.

I nodded, impressed with the girls, they were almost as good as we were last year. Only difference being we did not need the older girls to give us the idea then. It is too bad Elizabeth did not feel up to joining us, but then she has not been sleeping well lately.

“Let’s get going then. Remember to keep it quiet and watch what you are doing.” I said.

The girls nodded. Quickly and carefully, the girls climbed out the window to the outside one by one. We assembled in three groups of four and began rolling up are respective giant snow balls. There was no need to worry about size this year as the snowfall has been plentiful.

It took us no more than half an hour to assemble and decorate our snowman. The carrot got broken in two though and at first the fat stubby part was shoved into the middle of the face and the pointy end was inserted in the lower part of the middle. Most of the girls were blushing at the sight.

“It’s Dr. Phallic.” Michelle said.

The girls roared with so much laughter I was certain we would be discovered, but no one came. I swapped positions between the carrot pieces and took a step back. The girls looked at me with curious gazes. I smiled back.

“It’s more accurate this way.” I said.

Buttons and coal and carrot in place, scarf around the neck and hat on top we stood back and admired our handiwork. Then as quietly as we stepped out we snuck back in and slowly, two girls at a time, we climbed the stairs and returned to our beds.

The next morning we came to breakfast and no one gave a clue of the night’s activities. From the outside one might have thought it was a perfectly normal morning. That was until Mr. Carrington opened the front door for us to leave.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed.

The girls in the hall clasped their hands over their mouths but most of them could not help but giggle. Whether it was Mr. Carrington’s uncharacteristic use of profanity or the sight of the white giant blocking the exit from the house is open for debate.

“Does this mean it’s a snow day?” Michelle asked.

Mr. Carrington stared sternly at her.

“It does appear we are snowed in.” She said.

It was obvious he was very close to laughing himself but he was still holding it in. Then his eyes fell upon the carrot stub I forgot to remove from the mid-section. His face turned beat red.

“Penelope Sumter!” He yelled.

How did he know it was me?

Lecture By Post

November 23, 1896
Penelope Sumter

November 17, 1896

Dear Miss Penelope Sumter,

I would have written sooner were it not for pressing matters of greater importance. Your mother and James miss you and wish for me to send their greetings to you. I would extend the same from myself, but I do not condone deceptions and I think you well know I am not happy with you, unless you believe me ignorant of your recent activities.

The fact I am disappointed in you yet again, should be of know surprise to you. For years I have endeavored to impart on you good manners, common sense and some shred of decency. At last I must accept my utter failure in these regards and indeed as your father.

Your actions during the riots in Providence are beyond reason. To believe you have any responsibility or right to intercede in the political and social methods of men defies all sense of rational thought. Not only did you put yourself and your friends at risk, but you did so without the slightest knowledge of what you were involving yourself.

The blame does not lie solely with you though as I understand Wilbur was at your side during this debacle. Were you not my own flesh and blood I would believe you both out to ruin me. I am sickened to know the two you are not only free of shame, but prideful of your actions.

I have for the last time interceded to protect you from the consequences of your careless actions. I cannot guarantee your friends will be so fortunate and I can only hope you will learn from their suffering as if it were your own.

Were it not for your mother’s pleadings I would not welcome you home at all this Christmas. Fortunately for you, I consider the well being of my family before the well being of myself. Although you may find it difficult, I would ask you leave your wild tendencies and radical politics at school. You are well aware of my thoughts on these matters and there is no purpose to their further discussion.

Wilbur will bring you home. I suggest on the way the two of you decide if you wish to continue calling this place home or want to leave it for good. I realize I cannot control you nor can I force you to believe in things which you do not. You are young and naïve, but that remains a mere excuse for the inexcusable betrayals. Ultimately your path and your life is your own. I have done what I can for you to choose right over wrong, good over evil, but I cannot make the choices for you. It remains for you to decide.

Your Loving Father,
Radcliffe Sumter

PS. I am aware you and your friends voted in the Presidential election with Wilbur’s help.

Isn't It Poetic?

November 17, 1896
Penelope Sumter

Poets are poetic. The fact would seem obvious enough, but then obvious is only a perspective. Of more importance, and more interest, I am not a poet. The conclusion of which should reveal I am not poetic. This is of the obvious to those with perspective on such matters. Mr. Stark should have been among those aware, but as fate would have it, he was far from aware and the obvious was not.

There was a soft round of applause as Elizabeth finished her reading. The classroom was a solemn environment for the afternoon as each of us in turn would stand before our peers and reveal our deepest emotions in the form of moving text strung symbolically in rhyme. The page containing my attempt sat folded on my desk before me. Soon it would be my turn and it was apprehension alone sitting heavily in my chair, whilst my mind traveled the corridors to the outside where it rested peacefully underneath a willow tree.

“Miss Sumter.” Mr. Stark called.

My mind traveled back to the classroom and the task ahead. Nervously, I pushed myself upward on leaden legs and walked stiffly to the podium at the front. Upon arrival, I realized my first mistake, the folded page still sat waiting on the desktop I left behind. Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow as I turned around to retrieve it. The second journey forward was no easier than the first. The lead in my legs was joined by butterflies in my tummy.

I faced my peers with determination to survive the ordeal. Unfolding the page, I cleared my throat to clear the way. I looked downward at the page and for a moment I swear it was blank. The words came swimming back and I took a deep breath before I read aloud.

Gentle Breezes

Gentle breezes blowing through summer’s sweet grass
Pollen, cotton, wheezing, swinging, sitting on my ass
Bourbon in the study, tobacco smoke swirling thoughts best not ask
Behind closed doors, whooshing, thumping, swishing, being brought to task

Gentle breezes blowing through summer’s windows open
Pleading, crying, whining, stomping, writing with a pen
Flowers in the garden, water droplets falling, peace shall not last
Hot tea for two, sitting, sweating, sipping, remembering the past

Gentle breezes blowing through summer’s timely ending
Packing, cheering, waiting, singing, rejoicing with the sending
Smiles in the station, hugs and kisses coming, goodbyes are not forever
Step up, trembling, waving, jumping, needing the binding ties to sever

The End

I looked up from the podium wondering what the response would be. My peers were silent, not even a gentle applause for the effort. Mr. Stark stared speechless at me for a moment before suddenly slapping me across the face. I staggered back from the podium, stunned.

“That has to be the most disgusting and perverse attempt at poetry I have ever heard.” He said.
“I only did what you asked.” I replied.

He slapped me again. I cowered close to the floor.

“How dare you blame me for your vulgarity.” He said.

“I am sorry, sir.” I said.

It was instinct to plead forgiveness despite the certainty in my heart I had done nothing wrong. I wrote what came to me. I constructed the prose so as to rhyme. Is it my fault the result is less than spectacular? I think not, it is what it is. Poetry is not my choice for expressing myself and its rules made my attempt what it was not my heart or soul or mind.

Mr. Stark took the page from the podium where it lay and tore it to shreds before my eyes. He sprinkled the pieces on me like salt on an open wound. I would have cried but I knew the worst was yet to come.

“Forgiveness must be earned, Miss Sumter. Your disrespect for me, the assignment, and your classmates leaves me no choice but to discipline you and you should be thankful if I do not refer this matter to the Dean.” He said.

I stared at the ground, wrapped my arms around my knees. My chest felt like it would burst from the sadness.

“Prepare yourself.” He ordered.

I looked up at him questioning what it was he meant. His unblinking gaze revealed nothing, but made me look away.

“Sir?” I asked.

“Strip.” He said.

I flushed red in the face. There were boys in the class and they looked at me with greedy eyes.

“Please sir.” I begged.

“Strip.” He repeated.

And so I did.

I laid naked over Mr. Stark’s desk. My white buttocks plainly visible to my peers, one and all. I wanted to cry but there were no tears in my eyes. I pressed myself harder against the desk until its edges bit into my skin. The pain was only enough to dull my awareness of the scene I presented, not enough to hide within.

Mr. Stark swung a yardstick a dozen times. I kept my quiet and my tears. Unlike so many times, I felt no remorse, no sadness for my deeds. I felt only angry at the sting. The spanking was over soon enough but the humiliation is what never truly leaves.

When it was done I stood against the wall, my bare, red bottom on display. My hands quivered at my sides, struggling against the urge to provide comfort. Mr. Stark continued with the class as though I was not present at all. When at last the bell rang I had begun to imagine I was merely a part of the wall.

“Gather your things, Miss Sumter.” Mr. Stark ordered.

I turned around to find the room empty except for the two of us. I quickly knelt to the ground by his desk and retrieved my discarded clothes. Mr. Stark stepped to the side wall and opened a window to the outside. The cool air made me shiver.

“Throw them out here.” He ordered.

“Sir, no.” I said.

I backed away toward the door with my things held tightly to my chest.

“Throw them out the window, now.” He said.

I shook my head, no and continued toward the door. My fingers closed around the knob and turned it to open. I stepped out into the corridor and ran. I was almost at the stairs when I collided with Mr. Birchwood and we both tumbled to the floor.

“Miss Sumter?” Mr. Birchwood said.

I scrambled to collect my clothes afraid Mr. Stark would not be far behind. Mr. Birchwood grabbed my arm and helped me up.

“What has happened to you?” He asked.

It sounded like genuine concern in his voice. I shook my head too embarrassed to respond with the truth.

“Come with me.” He said.

He guided me forcefully by the arm into his private office and closed the door. I shuddered as I heard it lock. I backed away from him afraid matters had just become even worse.

“Get dressed.” He said.

I was surprised, but I wasted no time in obeying.

“Now, tell me what happened and who sent you out like that.” Mr. Birchwood commanded.

And so I did.

Curious Wilbur

November 15, 1896
Penelope Sumter

“Tell me.” Wilbur ordered.

“It’s not important.” I said.

“Then tell me and I will know for myself.” He said.

“I can’t.” I said.

“Why not?” He said.

“You would not understand.” I said.

“Because of you or because of him?” He said.

“It’s complicated.” I said.

“So explain it.” He said.

“Wilbur!” I said.

“I know there is a problem. He singles you out. I want to know why.” He said.

“Maybe I don’t know.” I said.

“I think you do.” He said.

“You think it’s all my fault.” I said.

“Is it?” He said.

“Does it even matter?” I said.

“It does to me.” He said.

“Can we just forget about it? Please.” I said.

“Whether you like it or not, it is my responsibility to look out for you.” He said.

“I can take care of myself.” I said.

“But you should not have to.” He said.

“It’s not like I’m failing.” I said.

“I’m not going away and I’m not dropping the subject just because you don’t want to talk about it. You have a choice, you can either tell me what is going on with Dr. Phallic and you or you can go over my knee and then tell me what is going on. It’s your choice but you are going to make it right now.” He said.

“He thinks I’m capable of more and he tries to push me to try harder because he thinks I don’t try hard enough on my own.” I said.

“Is he right?” He said.

“There was a time when he was.” I said.

“But not now?” He said.

“Last year I was more interested in other pursuits. I am more focused now.” I said.

“You know father would not approve of your focus.” He said.

“He didn’t approve much of it last year either.” I said.

“If you are trying harder this year, why does Dr. Phallic continue to single you out in class?” He said.

“Maybe you should ask him.” I said.

“I’m asking you.” He said.

“I don’t know.” I said.

“What do you think his reasons might be?” He said.

“If you are leading to something why don’t you just say it?” I said.

“Do you want to go over my knee?” He said.

“No! I don’t know what you want from me.” I said.

“The truth, Penelope.” He said.

“I’m telling you the truth.” I said.

“But not all of it.” He said.

“What do you think you know?” I said.

“Why don’t you tell me?” He said.

“If I knew, I would.” I said.

“Fine, I’ll talk to Dr. Phallic. If I find out you’ve been holding back, you’ll be sorry.” He said.

“And when you find out I’m be forthright, I expect an apology for the accusations.” I said.

My Pen For An Apple

November 7, 1896
Penelope Sumter

When John Hancock signed the Declaration of Independence, I wonder if he realized the historical significance of the moment. Perhaps it is only in retrospective one can see the great achievements of the past and yet I cannot escape the feeling I have become a part of history. We lost the election but nothing will ever take away the votes we cast nor the inescapable fact they were counted with equal weight to those of men.

This year there were not enough of us and four years from now I do not expect there to be a substantial change, but in the ensuing decades left to come, one day, it will be the voice of women deciding the next President. Dare I dream even that someday beyond it might even be a woman elected to lead the nation? Perhaps someday such a thought will not have the ridiculous tone it carries today.

This day I am my father’s nightmare. Everything he was afraid I would become I have. Though he will never acknowledge the truth of it, he has driven me to this and all it entails. I can still remember the days in which my thoughts were overburdened with nothing more complicated that finding a good man to marry. Those times are long since past ending not so long after I first came to Primrose College.

I stepped of the train that first day in Providence with a vow to find a husband in two months. Two months later I told myself it would only be a short while longer, after all what is two year learning about the world compared to a lifetime living in it? And then, somewhere along the way I found it was easier to invent a man than to deal with a real one. I pretended I still had the same goals and I believed myself well enough to convince my father, but the truth in my heart was not to be denied.

So, here I am, a Primrose Girl. It means more than simple education and study. This is a sisterhood in which we all recognize in someway our future is wait for us to declare it. What we were once given in privilege can no longer be taken away no more than Adam could give back the apple. We are destined to be together, to support each other, now and forever. None stand alone whether within these wall or beyond them.

I am afraid though not for myself. Those girls who do not yet understand what they have become a part of and the role they must yet assume are the ones I fear for. Mr. Howe promised us trouble was coming and not just from those we expect but from those enemies who’s names we do not know and faces we have never seen. They will come and we will be waiting, but the true threat, the one to fear the most is the one sleeping in the beds next to us. The girls in our midst who lack the faith of our convictions or the courage to stand in the face of overwhelming odds. It is inevitable we will be our own greatest threat.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Edith had just finished reading my contribution aloud.

“I had no idea you could write so well.” Elizabeth said.

I politely smiled at what I believe was a backhanded compliment. Clearly, I have not been as openly devoted to my studies as Elizabeth, but why would she assume I was incompetent with a pen?

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Penny.” Sarah said.

“We need a name for the publication.” Margaret announced.

“How about The Gazette?” Edith said.

“Primrose Times?” Elizabeth suggested.

“Women’s Monthly?” Margaret said with a snort.

We all laughed.

“The Primrose Periodical?” Sarah said.

“What about simple, The Primrose Girls?” I said.

They all looked at me and nodded.

“The Primrose Girls, has a nice ring to it.” Margaret said.

“I like it.” Edith said.

“The Primrose Girls is it is then.” Sarah decided.

Deep in the oldest bowels of Brown University, Margaret flipped the switch turning the great printing machine on after setting the last of the plates in place. The roar of the machine was deafening, but I ignored it standing by the iron bar window looking out from the cliffs onto the moonlit shores.

A single star shot brightly across the sky, falling into the ocean at the edge of the world. A single tear slipped from my eye down my cheek and onto the stone floor. We are devils or angels and I know not which to be true, but in these depths with the heat rolling off the machine and its demon-like screams, I know which my father would sooner believe.

Power Of The Press

October 28, 1896
Penelope Sumter

I started pacing the floor in Edith’s room after she finished reading our advanced edition of Brown’s in-house news circulation. I have known of the Paper’s existence since I first came to Primrose, in fact it is something of a running joke that the super secret underground paper ends up in the hands of everyone from staff to students to Primrose Girls. An idea was forming in my head and then suddenly it all clicked together. With a brilliant smile I turned to face the others snapping my fingers in an imitation of my father.

“I’ve got an idea and ya’ll are going to love it.” I said.

They all gave me their undivided attention from their. It was disturbing to be stared at so intently by three women. So disturbing, I nearly forgot was I was about to suggest. Devious thoughts are my repertoire but mostly my plots are against other young ladies I deem to be competition not the men I am hoping to one day swindle into marrying me.

“Were you going to share your idea or was it just an announcement?” Sarah asked.

Apparently, they have not heard of patience in Colorado for the girl has none. Down south we know all things come in their own time and rushing never does nothing but raise a sweat above your brow. That is definitely not becoming on a lady.

“I was merely collecting my thoughts before speaking. It is considered wise in some circles to think before you speak, not that I would expect you to know.” I said.

“That’s enough, Penelope. If you have something to say, say it otherwise I’d say we better get this to the sheriff before it starts circulating everywhere and we’ve got mobs hunting us down with thoughts of burning us at the stake.” Edith said.

“Don’t be ridiculous nobody will take this seriously.” Elizabeth said.

“The written word has a way of legitimizing even the most buffoonish of ideas.” Sarah said.

“That’s is precisely my point.” I said.

All three of them glared at me and shouted, “What point!”

“We should start our own circulation.” I said.

“That’s illegal.” Edith said.

“Only if we get caught.” Sarah replied.

“Where would get printing equipment?” Elizabeth asked.

“It was just a thought.” I said, shrugging.

“What would we write about?” Edith asked.

“Issues that matter to us.” Sarah said.

“The election.” Elizabeth said.

“Marriage.” I offered.

All three groaned at me. You would think not a one of them had even the humblest aspirations to find a man and raise a family of their own. I do not disagree with them in that women should have many of the rights of men, but I still believe it is our duty to one day become mothers and have sons and daughters. There is no greater way to change this world than to raise a new generation without the shackles with which we have been raised.

“Finances, science, birth control.” Edith offered.

I rolled my eyes at the last.

“It is a good idea, but one that needs direction and planning.” Sarah said.

“There is still this threat.” Elizabeth said, holding up the Paper.

“Is it a threat?” Sarah asked.

“What are you thinking?” Edith asked.

“It would be seen as an irresponsible article even by the male authorities at Brown. Should it go into circulation those authorities might find they could no longer safely ignore the existence of the Paper.” Sarah said.

“You think it was a joke of some sort?” Elizabeth asked.

“No, I think it was bait.” Sarah replied.

I nodded as it made sense to me.

“They were hoping we’d go running to the sheriff which would start an all out investigation to find and shut down the secret press. The students would blame us. We’d do more damage to our reputations than they could ever do with an article.” I said.

Sarah nodded at me.

“We need to find the press and I think I know how.” Elizabeth said.

Searching For Reflection

October 19, 1896
Penelope Sumter

Wilbur thought it was best if I stayed with him in the city for a few days after the riot last week. Classes were cancelled and after seeing that mob bearing down on Carrington Manor I was not disposed to argue with him. I suggested we invite Lizzie also but Wilbur insisted it would not be proper. That would be his subtle way of indicating he has an interest in her.

I still believe he is wasting his energies on her, but he is still in the mode of denying his interest in her. He insists his only interest in Miss Bassett is her ability to influence me. As if she could!
Wilbur is clearly torn between scolding me and congratulating me on a brilliant plan. His idea of compromise is to do neither and spend half his time scowling at me and the other pretending nothing happened. At least he decided not to inform father, although I suspect father will know well in advance of our upcoming trip home for the holiday season. Not much happens that he does not know about and even less where I am concerned.

Naturally, being in the city and free from school obligations, I went shopping. It was something of a disappointment with more than half the shops closed and the best shops well looted of their finest items. The act itself was enjoyable regardless and were it not for the occasional reminder through broken glass and empty displays, I could have completely forgotten about the recent troubles.

By mid-afternoon I was bored with browsing. It seems there was not an item in town which I desired that had not been either stolen or broken. The trail of open shops had led me close to the harbor and upon exiting the last shop I decided a walk along the boardwalk was in order. It is not the best of places for a lady to wander alone, but I am feeling a good deal braver after my success just last week.

As I walked along, I was amazed by the number of ships I could see in the harbor. Never before had I seen so many ships in one place. Looking around the reason became obvious, there was no one working the docks. No dock workers, no one to unload or load the ships with goods.

I stopped walking and stared out at the ships and the empty docks. The more I took it in the more I understood. It might not seem like much to the workers in Providence but the goods sitting in the harbor and the goods waiting in storage yards near the docks will only exasperate the already strained economics. With that thought came a crazier thought, maybe I was on the wrong side of last week’s dispute. A stand off between the laborers and the business owners will only weaken everyone.

“Excuse me.” An old woman said, interrupting my thoughts.

She looked out of place. Her attire was conservative but classy. She wore a red scarf over her graying hair which was tied up in a way that hid its length. Her eyes seemed kind and the way she looked at me, made me feel like I was being measured.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“It is kind of you to offer child, but it is not I who is lost.”

“I am not lost.” I reassured her.

“I know who you are child and you are more lost than you know.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone whom your father would prefer you did not know.”

“You know my father?”

“I know of him. Does that concern you?”

“What concerns me is you think you know me and we have never met before.”

“You are Miss Penelope Sumter of South Carolina. Your father is worried that you will embrace that which he fights against.”

“And what is that?”

“Take this,” She pushed a folded piece of paper into my hand. “there is a meeting and that is your invitation.”

“A meeting about what?”

“You have a choice, you can embrace a path to fulfill your potential or you can hide in the shadow of your father. If you will take some advice from an old woman, you cannot hide from yourself.”

“You think you know me better than I know myself?”

She laughed at me. I frowned.

“Do you know why you put that machine in front of the mob?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I know why you did it.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“No, you will have to figure it out for yourself for it to mean anything.”

“For wanting to help me, you sure don’t answer my questions very well.”

“My help is to get you to realize the questions you should be asking. The answers you will have to find for yourself.”

The woman began walking away.

“You never said who you are.” I called to her.

She smiled at me for a moment.

“A long time ago, I was someone just like you.”

Fight Or Flight

October 15, 1896
Penelope Sumter

We swerved to the right narrowly avoiding the angry mob marching down the center of the main street. Wilbur’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The angry shouts of the mob behind us left me with a near uncontrollable urge to stand up and shout, “Let them eat cake.” Fortunately the automobile’s velocity and jostling, kept me holding onto my seat rather than vacating it.

I realize now I should have taken the whole situation much more seriously, but at that moment it all seemed more like a comedy. I briefly imagined it was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein monster somewhere near Carrington Manor or perhaps inside its walls. The only thing missing was a thunderstorm and howling wind, but by the look of the sky, they could both be well on their way.

“We have to go back. We have to help her.” Lizzie said.

Wilbur ignored her.

“Help who?” I asked.

“Sarah.” She said.

“Who?” I asked again.

“Sarah Waters, they had her at the front of that mob.”

“She’s probably leading them.” I said.

“So the rope around her was so she could pull everyone along with her?” Lizzie said.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” I said.

I was not sure at all but it seemed the best thing to say at the time.

“Wilbur!” Lizzie shouted and grabbed his shoulder.

“What?” He demanded.

“We have to go back.” She said.

The car skidded to a halt sending a cloud of dust into the air around us. Wilbur turned around to look at Lizzie. I saw his eyes for just a moment and it was then I became scared. Wilbur does not frighten easily but it was pure fear in his eyes.

“Get out.” Wilbur ordered.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Lizzie said.

“Out.” He said.

“Fine, I’ll be the man since you are too much of a coward.” She said.

Lizzie stood up and began climbing over the door to get out. Wilbur closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then began a fit of coughing on account of the dust. I almost laughed but the dust was bringing tears to my eyes.

“Wait Lizzie.” I said.

“Don’t tell me you are going to help me.” She said.

“That depends on what your idea of help is.”

“We should get the sheriff.” Lizzie said.

“He’s already there.” Wilbur said.

“What?”

“It’s complicated but there was an incident Sunday and a boy got hurt. The boy is at Carrington Manor and sheriff is with him and that mob is going to get him.” He said.

“They seem to be a little more bloodthirsty than that.” Lizzie said.

“Like I said, it’s complicated. The whole thing boils down to a labor dispute but someone’s been convincing the guys that it’s women like the ones at Primrose that are taking away their jobs and keeping their pay low.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I said.

“People are going to get hurt unless we do something.” Lizzie said.

“I don’t mean to point out the obvious but we aren’t an army here. It might as well be a raging fire and the only thing to do is stay out of its path and wait for it to burn itself out.” Wilbur said.
An idea struck me. I know amazing, but it did.

“Lizzie get back in. Will head for the city. I’ve got a plan.” I ordered.

They both looked at me like I lost my mind. I probably have.

Losing Control

October 2, 1896
Penelope Sumter

“I’m not going.” I declared.

“Yes, you are.” Wilbur said.

“You can’t make me.” I replied.

“Yes, I can.” Wilbur said.

“Am I interrupting?” Lizzie asked as she entered the room, unexpectedly.

Wilbur glared at her without speaking.

“Yes.” I answered.

“I can come back.” She said.

“That would be appreciated, Miss Bassett.” Wilbur said.

Lizzie backed out of the doorway and closed the door. Wilbur and I remained silent for a moment as we listened to her retreating footsteps. When there was nothing left but silence we turned to each other again.

“Why does it matter to you anyway?” I asked.

“It’s your future, that will always matter to me.” Wilbur replied.

“It’s a dance.” I said.

“Yes, and what message does it send to father when you purposefully avoid every social opportunity the school provides?”

I smiled despite myself. I almost laughed but Wilbur would not have responded well to it so I kept inside.

“I think the message would only be degraded by putting it into words.” I said.

“You think you are being cute?” He asked.

He did not wait for me to respond. In the same instant he closed the space between us. He propped his left leg up on my beg and grabbed hold of my arm. I tried to pull away but his grip was like steel. Seconds later I was staring at the floor only inches away from my face while his hard hand slapped against my skirted posterior. Even through the layers of clothing the smacks stung.

As quickly as it happened it was over. I found myself face to face with my brother only now I was blushing with embarrassment. Anger was boiling up inside me. Without thinking, I slapped him across the face.

“I’m not going and you can’t make me.” I asserted.

Wilbur took a step back from me. His right fist was clenched and his arm shook. It was his eyes though that made me regret my actions and words. The expressed a disappointment and hurt I had never thought possible between us. I would have apologized, but it was too late.

“We’ll see about that.” He said.

Wilbur walked out the door and slammed it closed behind him.

The Days Of Gloria, Part 6

September 22, 1896
Penelope Sumter

Wilbur stopped by on Sunday. He usually comes by at least once a week but I suspect his dedication is more related to Lizzie, than me. This time though, he wanted nothing to do with her.

“Penny, how about an afternoon drive?” He asked.

“I’ve got too much school work.” I complained.

“I’ll go.” Lizzie volunteered.

“Some other time, Lizzie. I need to discuss something private with my little sister.” He said.

“Oh.” Lizzie said.

“Can’t it wait?” I asked.

“No.” He said.

Lizzie pouted. I groaned as I pushed myself up from the comfortable reading position of laying on my bed. Wilbur looked far to serious for a Sunday. He offered me his arm and I dutifully took it. We left without a further word to anyone, although there were plenty of stares.

Wilbur drove to his apartment without a word. I kept expecting him to tell me what was so important but I did not want to encourage him too much so I kept quiet. I think it was what he preferred.

Inside his apartment we settled down at a small table off the kitchen. Wilbur had a stack of papers bound together in front of him. Slowly he began unwinding the twine and avoiding my questioning eyes.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“How much do you know about your roommate?” He asked.

“You mean Lizzie?”

“Yes.”

“Enough I think. She’s the daughter of some big New York exporter but the business has gone south and they are running out of money. She’s more interested in school than men except for one man and she’s all for equality of sexes. I know that’s a problem for father but she’s my roommate, I can’t ignore her.”

“Did you know her family couldn’t afford to send her back to Primrose this year?”

“No, but that really isn’t surprising.”

“How do you think she got the money to come?”

“I would think she either borrowed it or found a benefactor.”

“She met with the Rockefeller’s. They have paid her tuition and boarding in advance for the next three years.”

“Impressive. Why are you telling me?”

“The Rockefeller’s never do anything without a reason. Lizzie is in their debt. That comes with a price and in this case it could be a dangerous one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t put all the pieces together yet, but it makes sense the Rockefeller’s would oppose the commingling of the sexes at Primrose.”

“Why would they even care?”

“They are funding a competing establishment in the south that is not yet ready for that step. They will of course want to be first.”

“What does all this have to do with Lizzie or me for that matter?”

“Did you notice Lizzie’s reaction when I drove you up the shore to that tree?”

“Not really. By the way that was a little morbid don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry to have distressed you but I had to know and Lizzie near panicked when she realized where we were.”

“If I had known about Gloria, I would have too.”

“Exactly the point, neither of you knew or at least you shouldn’t have. Lizzie did though, she had been there before and she knew.”

“Wait! There is no way Lizzie would have done anything to Gloria. That’s impossible, it’s not in her character.”

“That may be true, but she still knew and that means Gloria was murdered. It also means Lizzie knows by whom.”

I seriously wanted to slap him for suggesting such a thing. The only problem was he was making too much sense and I have heard the younger girls talking about it being a murder as well. For a change the rumors might actually be true.

“Why are you telling me?”

“Because you need to be careful around her. Lizzie can’t be trusted.”

“She won’t do anything to me.”

“She probably didn’t do anything to Gloria but that doesn’t make her any less dead.”

Real Men Don't Blush

September 9, 1896
Penelope Sumter

“Oh Remington!” I said and waved at him as I hurried up the street to Primrose Hall.

He was standing before the front steps with Catherine Defoe. She was clearly flirting with him and while I have never been a friend of hers I would not wish the likes of Remington Drake on any of the Primrose Girls.

Remington straightened his back and turned toward me. He seemed uncertain in the distance and I privately relished the thought that I had left him off balance even if it was only for a short moment.

“Miss Sumter, it is pleasant to see you again.” He said.

Catherine looked between Remington and myself, no doubt wondering just what our relationship was.

“Why Remington there’s no need to be so formal. Any man who’s seen me as you have has no right to call me anything but Penny. How was your summer vacation?” I replied as I came to stand next to him.

Remington blushed slightly as Catherine stared at him with surprise in her eyes. He cleared his throat.

“I really must be going.” He said.

“Don’t be silly, Remington. I won‘t take up too much of your time with Miss Defoe.”

“It‘s not what you think Penny.” He said.

“Wait a minute. Are you two involved?” Catherine asked looking more than a little concerned.

“Oh certainly not. At least not anymore.“ I said.

“But you were?“ She asked.

“Only briefly and it was never serious right Remy?“ I said.

“Yes, quite correct.“ He replied.

“Just because my father rejected you doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends does it?” I asked.

“Why would your father reject him?” Catherine asked.

“Oh it was nothing really, just a misunderstanding as to Mr. Drake’s intentions. Isn’t that right Remy?”

Remington cleared his throat again and looked about as uncomfortable as I have ever seen a man. His neck was bulging out of his collar and turning redder by the minute. I enjoyed every second but it was nothing compared to the humiliation he had served upon me.

“I really must be going now.” Remington said and started to walk away.

“Don’t be a stranger.” I said with a wink.

Catherine seemed speechless as she watched him walk away. I grabbed her arm after a moment and we began walking up the steps into Primrose Hall.

“We don’t know each other well but seeing as we at least have Primrose in common I feel it only fair I warn you about him.” I said.

“Warn me? What is it?” She asked.

“Remington Drake is a bastard.”

“I think I can judge that for myself.” She replied.

“It is your choice I won’t interfere again. Maybe he won’t do the same things to you he did to me. I cannot know his heart if he has one but I will never trust him again and I don’t think you should either.”

“What did he do?” She asked.

“I cannot speak of such things, just know if my father ever happens to cross his path he’ll likely shoot him dead where he stands.”

Catherine’s mouth opened and closed but no words emerged. I could practically see her imagination going to town on the horrendous and unspeakable things a man could do to a woman. She eventually closed her mouth and looked at me with a half smile.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Thank you for warning me.” She said.

“We can keep it just between us, but I’ll warn any Primrose Girl he comes near.” I said.

She nodded in complete agreement.

That was simple enough. Phase one of my plan for revenge was in motion and I had yet to even break a sweat. Within a few days there will not be a woman in Rhode Island that will speak with him and then it will be time to move on to the next phase of my revenge.

First Impressions

August 26, 1896
Penelope Sumter

I must say it was the oddest experience sitting next to Wilbur as he drove the automobile up the street to Carrington Manor. There were plenty of stares, jealous and otherwise, but what made the experience odd was how different everything appeared. It had only been a few weeks since I was last here and yet everything seemed so different, perhaps nothing was and it was merely I who have changed.

Parked in front of Carrington Manor, Wilbur helped me out and then began piling my luggage on the sidewalk. It was almost embarrassing, how much more I had been able to bring without the limitation of train travel. There was a dark haired girl who looked to be a new servant of the house, she in particular looked at me with what I assume to be disdain. If I were a mean sort I would have reported her to Mrs. Carrington straight away, but I have always felt it best to wait until an affront is more definable than a simple look.

“Is there something you need?” I asked the staring girl.

“No.” She answered simply.

“Then go about your business and fetch a boy to carry my things inside.”

“I’ll do about my business as I please and you can fetch your own assistance.”

“How rude! You can be sure I will report this to Mrs. Carrington.”

“As you like.” She waved her hand in a dismissing motion and walked away.

I boiled with embarrassment and anger. I would have followed the girl directly but it was then that Lizzie appeared. Probably for the best, because it just does not do to infuriate the staff upon arrival. I learned that lesson in Paris when I was a little girl.

Lizzie was awestruck by the automobile and she made no effort to conceal it. Wilbur appeared awestruck himself but he was not looking at the automobile. I sighed, Wilbur never has had very good taste in women.

“Can you believe the new help they have, Lizzie?” I said after a moment.

“You mean her?” Lizzie said and nodded her head at the retreating girl.

“Yes, completely rude and out of order. She seems to not know her place.”

“She’s a new student.”

“You must be mistaken. Since when do they allow paupers in here?”

“I wish I was mistaken. Stay away from her. She’s trouble, even Mrs. Carrington sees that. She had a talk with her straight away yesterday after we arrived.”

“It seems not to have had any effect on her.”

“From what I saw, Mrs. Carrington was more effected than she was.”

“No doubt the girl is used to whipping.” I said.

“Probably. Her name is Sarah Waters, she is from somewhere out west. I bet she doesn’t even know what a bath is.” Lizzie said.

We both giggled at the thought.

Wilbur cleared his throat in a less than subtle manner to get my attention.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” He said.

“Oh yes, Mr. Wilbur Sumter may I introduce, Miss Elizabeth Bassett, a roommate and friend from last year.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Bassett.” Wilbur said.

He stepped to her side and grasped her hand gently bringing it to his lips. Lizzie blushed, as was expected. I shook my head. Clearly, Wilbur is in more need of guidance in selecting a mate than I. It is not that Lizzie is bad people, quite the contrary, she is good people, but she is bad money. That is her family has less of it each year rather than more. Definitely not a good match for my family.

“I see you are taken with the automobile.” Wilbur said.

“I’m sorry if I’m staring. I’ve just never seen one so close.” She replied.

“Or at all.” I muttered under my breath.

Wilbur shot me a warning look and still managed to be charming to Lizzie in the way only a Southern man can do.

“Would you like to go for a ride about town? It would be my pleasure.” Wilbur said.

Lizzie looked like her eyes would pop out of her head from shear excitement.

“I would be honored, Mr. Sumter.” She said more mutely than her expression.

“Call me Will, all my friends do. Are you coming Penny?” Wilbur asked.

“No, I have had enough riding for a good long time.” I replied.

It was not exactly true, I enjoyed nearly every minute of riding in the machine but the thought of watching my brother and Lizzie continue on with their little game was more than enough to make me sick.

“Suit yourself. I will be back in two hours to collect the empty cases.” He said.

“Yes, yes, I know.”

I headed inside to find some help for my things as they sped away back down the street toward Providence. They did both look happy, but I know Lizzie must still have eyes for Jonathon. Wilbur will find out soon enough she was in love with his machine and not him.

Penny For Your Thoughts

August 22, 1896
Penelope Sumter

“Out with it all ready.” I said.

Wilbur looked over at me, taking his eyes off the road ahead for the first time in over an hour.

“Out with what?”

“Something has been eating you since we left home.”

“Whatever makes you say that?”

“The way you’ve been acting.”

“How have I been acting?”

“Like something has you upset.”

“I don’t get upset.”

“Hah! You are talking to me you know.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, just less than forthcoming with the truth. Look, I know father sent you away with me and it is probably to have us both out of the way.”

“What do you thin he would want us out of the way for and what gives you the idea we could pose an obstacle for anything he wants to do anyway?”

“All those meetings at the house and that man who brought James back. There are things going on and it is not father’s usual business routine. I am not a complete idiot. Obviously you are little more in on what is going on than I am but I have the feeling what you do know, you don’t approve.”

“You have been reading too many Sherlock Holmes stories.”

“Maybe, but I do know father prefers to keep me wondering in the dark than lie to me about things he knows I will disagree with.”

“That is because you don’t know how to disagree civilly.”

“Just because I wish to argue out my points of view?”

“No, because you inevitably turn the argument in directions far more personal when you begin to lose.”

“I do no such thing.”

“Hah!”

“Don’t mimic me.”

Wilbur laughed.

“Finally, a smile from my dear brother.” I said.

“All right, you win. Father and I have some serious differences of opinion in regards to the future of the South and of the Country as a whole.”

“It comes as no surprise to me. So, what has you angry?”

“Nothing. Father didn’t send me away, I chose to leave. I arranged for my own employment in Providence without father’s help. What angers me is he insists on keeping the appearance of being in control even when he is not.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Of course not, because he told you before I could.”

“You know he loves you?”

“Like he loves you? He sends you away here, hoping to marry you off to someone with political connections and money he can use. That is not love, Penelope.”

“He only wants a good life for us.”

“He only wants for himself and he uses everyone and everything around him. You don’t know him like I do.”

“He is our father.”

“Yes, but fortunately it does not mean we have to be like him.”

“What is it he is doing?”

“I do not know for certain, but I know he is meddling in a great many affairs including the workings of your school.”

“You suspect more than you are saying.”

“I will keep them to myself until if and when I have evidence to prove myself correct.”

“Whatever you tell me will remain between us, Wil. You can trust me.”

“I know, but some things are better left unsaid.”

Road Less Traveled

August 13, 1896
Penelope Sumter

Automobiles are slow; painfully, dreadfully, boringly, astoundingly, SLOW!!! Now that I got that out of the way, let me just say now and forever, I would much rather take a train for long trips. The only downside to trains is it does limit your immediate destinations, but so do gas stations.

Wilbur had it all planned out. He intended for us to run out of gasoline every so often and then spend half a day trying to locate a gasoline station. I cannot figure out how anyone expects such a fuel consuming machine will ever replace horses. When was the last time a horse ran out of gasoline? If they every really expect these things to catch on they will have to solve the fuel problem.

Our first stop was on the side of the road several miles from anywhere. I offered to stay and guard the automobile but Wilbur insisted I walk with him. Fortunately, it was only about a half hour before a nice man with a wagon came along and offered us a ride to town. Even better, they had just got a gasoline station at the local thrift. Wilbur took a horse back to the automobile. I still think we were lucky not to come back to an empty vehicle, but Wilbur has it all planned out and he is not taking advice this week.

Usually, I like spending time with him but right about now, he is reminding me far too much of James. I love James and all but he can be a royal pain in the ass, literally. Wilbur is supposed to be so much more relaxed and easy going, this whole adventure thing is right in keeping with that, but his grumpy attitude is not. I am guessing he is not happy about being sent away with me. I am not so foolish as to believe it is because of me he is unhappy. I know better, father has wrapped punishment in the guise of a gift and expected Wilbur to pretend not to notice.

I have not always thought this way, but perhaps exile is not the horrid punishment it seems. The separation from the past can open up new doorways to new opportunities. I think Wilbur might just find that the distance is what he really needs from father more than anything else. I cannot say that to him of course, but I believe it to be true. They are too different from each other not only in personality but in the things in which they believe.

Wilbur is far more like our great-grandfather or at least how I imagine he would have been. Father is too wrapped up in his world of politics and business. He strives to control everything and everyone around him. I can make suppositions as to why he does this but I think it would not be safe to record such thoughts, even here in what should be a private space. My brother is an honorable man and he has a good and kind spirit.

Such men are rarely fortunate in pursuit of gold but in pursuit of life, I think they reign. If only my brother could put aside whatever wounding words were spat at him before our departure, he would surely agree with me. The road ahead is perilous and unknown but the sun is rising and a new day is on the horizon.

Packing for Tomorrow

August 4, 1896
Penelope Sumter

As I packed my things for a return to Primrose, I realized I had never really came home at all. The last time I did this chore, I had been weeping over every little thing I could not take with me, including my father and brothers. Now, I feel no attachment here. I will leave tomorrow with Wilbur and instead of looking back, I will only be looking forward.

James seems completely oblivious to my existence. I understand he has other matters to occupy his time but I remember better times, when family at least rated courtesy if not attention. My father was surprised at first, that Wilbur wished to leave so soon, but he required little convincing from my brother. Wilbur is eager to set out on his own.

“Are you packed?” Wilbur asked from behind me.

“Almost. I have not collected any new school supplies yet, though.” I replied.

I kept working to get my clothing case packed with as many of my garments as would fit plus three more that I just could not leave behind.

“We can collect those things, when we arrive in Providence.”

“I know. I just don’t understand what I am going to do being there so early.”

“You can help me decorate my apartment for one thing.” He chuckled.

“I don’t imagine there will be much ‘help’ to it. I‘m sure I‘ll be doing all of it.” I replied.

“Probably, but it sounds better that way.”

“Maybe to you…” I trailed off.

I was trying to close my case and it was not cooperating.

“Would you like some help?” He asked.

“Yes.” I said.

“Not that you’ll be helping much.” He replied.

He cast me a playful, knowing look. I smiled and fluttered my eyelids at him. He just shook his head in mock annoyance, but managed to close my case on his first try.

“Thank you.” I said.

“Nothing to it. Beside, I spoke with your Mrs. Carrington. She said it would be no problem for you to arrive early and that they have plenty of chores you can help with in preparing the house for the arrival of the rest of the girls.”

“Oh great. You know, if I had wanted a summer job, I would not have come back here in the first place.”

“Don’t be so grumpy, we can have a good time of it. There is nothing to say we can’t make a few stops on our way up.”

“You suddenly get an a much larger allowance?” I asked.

“We are taking the automobile, so we can damn well go wherever I want to go.” He said.

“Really? I didn’t think father would let you… That’s great. You know there are a few places I wouldn’t mind passing through.”

“Well now, if I take you through them, what will I get out of it?”

“Let me think about it.”

I could not help the big smile on my face. It would be an adventurous trip by automobile. No wonder he wanted to go now. Thus far, the summer had been short on fun for the both of us. This was an opportunity to make up for that.

“Don’t think too hard, I wouldn’t want you to wear your brain out before school even starts.” He replied.

I slapped his arm in mock anger.

“Maybe I’ll let you drive.” I said at last.

“You’ll let me?” He asked.

“Nah, you’ll get us lost.” I said.

“If I do it will only be because you can’t read a map.”

“Covering your tracks all ready?”

“Yep, I can’t risk an argument on the road. We will just have to settle it right now. Anything bad happens while we’re driving up and it’s all your fault. Agreed?”

“No.”

Wilbur picked up my hairbrush from my dresser. Something I had set aside to pack in the morning just before we leave. He waved it menacingly at me.

“Oh, really? I think I can change your mind.” He said.

“You wouldn’t dare!” I shouted.

I of course knew he would, but is that not half the fun?

Desperately Seeking Absolution

July 30, 1896
Penelope Sumter

“May I have a word, father?” I timidly asked.

He was looking busy at his desk, but then he always does. I had debated for weeks on whether to approach him or to wait for him to approach me. With my father it is always a game of sorts and I cannot help but feel I have lost this one. He has been distant from me since my return from school and although he certainly felt he had cause to be angry with me, I expected forgiveness. It did not have to be immediate, but so much time has passed, I fear I will return to school and still not have it.

I did my best to appear to wait patiently just inside the door. Internally, I was tapping my foot and huffing at being ignored. Father continued writing on a page in front of him, looking up occasionally when he dipped his pen for more ink. His gaze seemed to pass through me and I began to feel like I was wasting my time.

“No doubt you will give me no peace until I say yes.” He said, still writing and pointedly not looking at me.

“If now is not a good time, I can return later.” I replied.

Only then did he really look at me. I shifted uncomfortably under his gazed. He sat his pen aside and placed the page he was working inside a drawer. He pushed his chair back and stood up behind his desk. He gestured toward one of the visitor chairs in front of it.

“Sit down, Penelope.”

I did so with a slight hesitancy. It is unusual for him to offer me a seat in his study. In most circumstances he keeps me on my feet so as to disrupt him less. Clearly he expected this conversation to be longer than usual. He sat back and folded his hands together in front of him on the desk, after I was seated.

“What is it you wish to discuss?” He asked.

“You are angry with me.” I said.

I had given a lot of thought to how I would breach the subject and in the end I decided on directness, although it would certainly rile my father some, it seemed the only way to get to the bottom of the matter in a reasonable time frame.

“I am not.” He replied.

“I do not mean to contradict you, sir, but you punished me when I arrived and have ignored my presence since. Perhaps angry is a poor choice of words on my part, but your behavior toward me is surely not one of adoration.”

“Yes, and what have you done of late which is worthy of my adoration?”

“I will readily concede I have disappointed you, but I am still your daughter. Disappointing you was never my goal. I wanted you to be proud of me, I thought you would be.”

“It is my sincere hope, you are now aware that such is not the case. I expect you to behave like a proper lady and to refrain from politics and political statements at all times.”

“I am. I am truly sorry for the embarrassment I caused you.”

“As you should be.”

“So, why will you not forgive me?”

“What makes you think I have not forgiven you?”

“Your general behavior toward me this summer. The fact you barely even look at me and ever less often speak a work to me and never has it been a kind one since I returned home.”
“You are nearly a grown woman, I did not think you still required coddling.”

“I do not. I just need reassurance.”

“You are so narrow minded. You seem to think the entire world revolves around you. Let me assure you, it does not. If I am not the father you have come to expect me to be, did it ever occur to you that the reasons for my inattention might have nothing to do with you at all?”

“It has, but you make time to speak with James and Wilbur.”

“They are my heirs. James in particular is very involved in our family’s affairs. The time I make with them is not for reassurance, but business. Can you understand ?”

“Yes, of course. I am sorry I disrupted you. I only wanted to ensure we are on good terms.”

“You made mistakes during your first term at Primrose. I suppose it was to be expected, a young woman in particular can easily be given too much freedom. It was as much my mistake as yours.”

“I accept full responsibility for my actions.”

“As you should, and you should know there are consequences.”

“I have suffered them without complaint.” I said, blushing slightly at the memories.

“What you speak of was punishment, not consequences. Consequences are the results of your actions, not the punishments you incur for them. “

“I am not certain I understand.”

“I am certain you do not. A woman’s mind has difficulty grasping this concept and I do not expect you to understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am sending Wilbur with you, when you go back to school. He will stay in Providence and assist with some business there as well as keep an eye on you.”

I was not sure what to say to the revelation, so I said nothing at all.

“If you recall, the most important reason I sent you to Primrose College was for you to find a suitable husband. Seeing as you ignored this purpose, I will expect Wilbur to arrange appropriate meetings for you. He will also determine which young women you may interact with and which you will stay away from.”

“I thought you were approving of Remington?” I said, confused.

“We all know your relationship with him was nothing more than a hoax.”

“But…”

“Yes, I allowed him to punish you because it was fitting that you fall prey to your own hoax. Do not think there is anything you have done while at school that I am not fully aware of.”

My memory pondered a few things, most significantly Lucy, who was expelled over what was supposed to have been a minor bit of revenge on her. She had pushed the limits of the issue but it was still ultimately on my conscience what happened to her.

Father must have read my mind.

“Yes, even your scheming against the Meyers girl.”

I swallowed.

“Do not look so worried, if anything, your actions in that situation give me faith in your ability to do what must be done.”

“If you have faith in me, then why Wilbur?”

“Again not everything is all about you. Wilbur is not content to serve our family under James. He needs his own responsibilities and the space to become a man in his own right. I am giving him an opportunity to prove himself and at the same time he can help me look after you. Whether you agree or not, you do need looking after. Trouble has a way of finding you.”

I nodded ruefully at the truth of his words.

“I still think I can determine for myself who my friends should be.”

“Because you chose so well last year?”

I sighed. There was little point in arguing. Every point I could make would only further support his own views.

“Now if there is nothing more, I have work waiting.” Father said.

“Thank you, for the time, sir.” I said and left my father to his work.