Cigars, Whiskey, and Women

June 12, 1896
Charles Birchwood

“Discipline, Charles.” Dean Steadward paused to sip his whiskey. “It is the foundation of every respectable educational facility in the world and doubly important to a woman’s college.”

I nodded in agreement and sipped from my own glass of single malt.

“Miss Bowen indicated you would have a set of guidelines for me on the subject.”

“Not anymore. I have had to throw the entire thing out the window.”

“Really? There must be an interesting story behind that decision.”

“Yes, indeed. I am certain you have heard the rumors all ready.”

“Rumors? Indeed not, I pay no attention to the ladies’ gossiping. I find it incurably disorienting.”

We shared a chuckle and sipped a little more from our respective glasses.

“Beginning in the fall, Primrose College will be invaded by the occasional boy from Brown.”

“For what purpose?”

“For the purpose of flirtation no doubt, but it shall be disguised as taking classes which are unavailable in a convenient time slot for the boys.”

“I fail to see the connection to your discipline routine.”

“The Board, in its infinite wisdom, has elected that no boy shall be disciplined inside the walls of Primrose Hall.”

“Perhaps we should whip them in the streets then.” I suggested.

Sebastian Steadward looked at me for a moment as if trying to decide whether I was serious or not. He tipped his glass back and drained it in a single gulp. He grabbed the bottle and refilled his and topped mine off.

“I can see how the boys could be troublesome but I see no reason to stop disciplining the girls regardless.” I said.

“Have you not heard of the women’s suffrage movement?”

“Is that not the exclusive club for men with undisciplined wives?”

Sebastian roared with laughter. I enjoyed a chuckle myself.

“If only it were. Unfortunately, it is a catching trend among women to demand more and more equality. Primrose College is in fact a testament to their lobbying power. If they learn we are stricter with girls than boys inside the same classrooms over the same offenses they will have us for lunch in the press.”

“Then the trick would be for them to either not learn of the imbalance or perhaps tilt the imbalance in the opposite direction.”

“In the opposite direction? How?”

“Simply erect higher standards of behavior for the boys while inside Primrose Hall with severe consequences such as expulsion.”

“We cannot expel boys from Brown for minor mischief!”

“Of course not but you could expel them from Primrose College.”

Sebastian’s eyes opened wide as he suddenly understood. He nodded his head and slowly a large almost deviant smile spread across his face.

“I like how you think, Charles.” He said.

“Thank you.”

We quietly sipped our whiskey. Sebastian pulled out a pair of cigars and offered me one. It was finely rolled and had a pleasant scent. I took it graciously and lit it.

“A girl’s father sent these to me in thanks for my looking the other way on a discipline issue with her.” He said.

“It is not a bad cigar, but I cannot say I approve of looking the other way when a girl needs discipline.”

“You misunderstand, I looked the other way so he could handle her discipline in his own manner. Some of the fathers take a very active role especially in larger issues.”

“Interesting.”

I puffed a cloud of smoke and deeply inhaled the aroma. My eye caught on the gold band seal of the cigar. It read “Sumter”.

“Before I forget, I wanted to speak with you about Miss Bowen.”

“Yes?”

“My understanding was she is strictly my assistant for the summer?”

“That is correct. Is there a problem?”

“Twice since I have arrived Ms. Maple has appropriated her services. I do not mind sharing if there is a legitimate need but it is my impression, Ms. Maple is simply lazy.”

“I see. Yes, I have had conversations with Ms. Maple before on the very subject of laziness. I suppose I must do so again. My apologies for any inconvenience she has caused you.”

“With your permission, I would be inclined to handle the matter more directly.”

“Certainly, you have my full support to handle it anyway you see fit.”

“Thank you.”

I smiled and sat back in the armchair. The cigar would take a good while to burn and there was still plenty of whiskey in my glass. I decided to enjoy both without the burden of further conversation. It was far more entertaining to think of Ms. Maple and how I might deal with her laziness.

It was a short while later when I left the Dean’s office with the understanding I had his full support in disciplinary matters. Interestingly enough the guidelines for punishing the young women of Primrose College were rather ambiguous and after a few well asked questions I determined it was purposeful.

In this way the teaching staff has the flexibility to deal with the young women as their attitude, demeanor, and past history suggests is wisest. No need to worry about keeping things fair as long as the standards of behavior are uniformly enforced the punishments can be custom tailored to each student as is most advantageous.

Alterity

June 11, 1896
Edith Bowen

“What took you so long?” Charles asked.

I had just arrived back from retrieving a storage room key from Ms. Maple. She had taken the opportunity to scold me over Mr. Birchwood not having his own as of yet. I did my best to explain he was scheduled to receive them from the Dean in near future but Ms. Maple was less than interested in any excuses.

I soon found myself staring at my bare toes whilst my bare bottom waved in the air under the attentions of Ms. Maple’s desk ruler. Twelve strokes and three jumps in the air later I was permitted to borrow her key and right my clothing. Of course I thanked her profusely for her kindness and as soon as I was out of earshot called her every nasty name I know.

“Ms. Maple.” I answered simply, hoping he would leave it at that but knowing he would not.

“Yes? What about Ms. Maple?”

“She scolded me for not all ready having secured a personal key for you, sir.”

“I am confused.”

“Sir?”

“Are you not my assistant, Miss Bowen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you then also the assistant of Ms. Maple?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why should Ms. Maple have anything about which to scold you?”

“I am but an intern, sir. That places me at the bottom rung of just about everyone here and answerable to everyone.”

“Not as long as you are my assistant, Miss Bowen.”

“Sir?”

“If anyone takes an issue with you, I want you to immediately refer them to me. If discipline is necessary have no doubt I will carry it out but I cannot abide my assistant being torn in a million pieces by the conflicted and confused instructions of an entire teaching staff. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir. I am not certain anyone will accept it coming from me but I will do as you say.”

“Very good and I will deal with anyone who does not.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now I believe we have discussed directness and the consequences for indirect responses?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you agree your response of simply, Ms. Maple was an indirect response to my question?”

I sighed.

“Yes, sir.”

“I think you can hand me that key, undress yourself and wait in that corner for me.” Charles pointed to the corner at the far end of the room behind the door.

“Yes, sir.” I replied and handed the key over to him.

There are eighty-seven dimples within eyesight of the corner. I know for certain because I counted them all twice while waiting for Charles to return. When he did, I dared not look away from the corner despite at first not knowing for certain it was Charles. For a man he is light-footed and quiet.

It was only when he cleared his throat I was certain it was him. I could feel him step up close behind me. His warm breath tickled the hairs on the back of my necks. I closed my eyes and leaned backward as if my body was begging for his touch. I shivered when at last his fingertips lightly stroked the skin of my buttocks.

“What did she use?” He asked softly.

He fingers traced the edges of the marks one by one. My breath became rapid. His hand suddenly slapped against my bottom and squeezed.

“What did she use?” He asked more forcefully.

“A desk ruler.” I exhaled.

“Very nice.” He said, his cheek brushing against the small of my back.

His hands massaged the enflamed flesh. He gave it occasional soft pats and squeezes as he explored every inch of my backside. I stood still and focused on controlling my erratic breath. I longed to turn around and kiss the man, but of course he would not be interested in me in that way.

“Did it hurt?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you cry?”

“Yes.”

His cheek left my back and his hand trailed up from my bottom to my shoulder sending a shiver down my spine as he went. I could feel his breath again on my neck and suddenly he turned me around from the corner.

Instinctively I wrapped an arm over my bare breasts and draped the other to cover between my legs.

“No, no, no.” Charles clucked.

He smiled at me brushed his fingers along my cheek as if wiping away tears.

“You are embarrassed.” He said.

I nodded and looked at the ground.

“You don’t have to be. You are beautiful, Edith.”

I smiled in spite of myself. A moment of courage and I let my arms fall to my sides, exposing myself completely to his judgment.

“That is much better.” He smiled.

He placed his finger under my chin and lifted my head until our eyes met. My heart pounded, my ears pulsed with blood and I desired only to look away from his powerful gaze but I could not bring myself to even blink.

After a quiet moment of understanding, his finger left my chin and tapped my nose.

“Get dressed. I think you have had enough for one day.” He said.

I hesitated for a moment certain he must be teasing me. No teacher had ever let me off before with such a mild punishment no matter what the condition of my bottom. The look in his eyes convinced me though, he was different. Charles Birchwood actually has a heart and just maybe a soul.

Nothing To Hold On To

June 10, 1896
Sarah Waters

In solitude there is a lot of time for thinking. These days I spend a lot of time thinking about the past. I used to dream about the future, about the places I wanted to visit and the people I wanted to meet. All of that seems quite silly now.

My freedom has been taken from me and for the first time it is for something I have actually done. The sheriff is dead and I shot him that way. It was not an accident, but deliberate action. Deserved in my opinion, but the law seems not care about details like that.

I find it highly amusing, the medics here at the army camp have spent hours treating my wounds, and all for nothing. It will not be long and I will be sentenced to death for murder. I always hated waiting for a spanking at home, but waiting to die in solitude with strangers for guards is worse. Maybe if I try to escape they will do it faster?

“Good morning.” The General said.

I turned around to see him ducking inside the tent which has become my home.

“Is it?” I asked.

He nodded as though he understood.

“I have spoke with just about everyone in this town about you.”

“Most of them probably hate me these days.” I replied.

“Some do, but not most. Most of them seem to think you are some kind of a hero.”

I blinked disbelief at him.

“My father was the hero.” I said after a moment.

“Yes, he was as well.”

“Does any of this have a purpose? Not that I don’t enjoy your company but I grow tired of waiting to die and a few words from you won’t be changing how I see any of this.”

“From what the medics tell me you will not be dying anytime soon, Miss Waters. Why would you be waiting to die?”

“I killed the sheriff. There’s no escaping it.” I replied.

“True enough, although he was also shot in the back. The purpose of my visit however, is to tell you, you are free to go.”

He smiled.

“Why?” I asked.

Why did I care to know? I do not know. I should have walked out of the tent and kept on going without ever looking back, but I guess part of me still cares about things even though I feel dead inside.

“Seems most of the people in this town tell a similar story of the sheriff cooperating with William Howe and his gang of thugs in kidnapping quite a few young women. Under this light his death is little more than another thug meeting his just end. Nobody is going to convict a woman of murder under these circumstances.” He said.

“So, if I was a man, I’d be in trouble?” I asked.

“You’re not so it doesn’t matter.”

I laughed at the twisted logic.

“Your brother is waiting to take you home.” He said.

“So, that’s it?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I stood up and walked past him out into the open. Sam stood a few feet away. His face was torn between happiness and distrust. He stood his ground and waited for me to come to him. I walked slowly.

“Are you all right?” He asked when I was near enough.

“No.” I replied and kept walking.

The family wagon was a few feet behind him and I climbed up into it without waiting for assistance. Sam joined me a moment later. The general stood outside the tent and watched as we left. Sam drove the horses onward toward home and neither of us looked back.

When were beyond the borders of the camp I turned to Sam.

“Has our father been buried?” I asked.

“Yes.” He replied.

His voice sounded strained and nervous.

“I want to see him.”

“Okay.” He replied.

“Now, Sam.” I said.

Sam nodded and I sat back lost in my thoughts.

The cemetery was deserted. I could not help but notice there were lots of new graves. I wondered for just a moment how many men had lost their lives over the strike. No matter what the number it was too many though and so it did not matter.

Sam led me to our father’s. It was marked by a small carved stone. I knelt on the ground at it and my hand grasped at the dirt and grass. I am not sure what I hoped to find by coming, but whatever it was, it was not there.

“I’m sorry, Sarah.” Sam said.

“For what?”

“For everything. For not being there when you need me. For not waiting to bury him. For not saving you. For not saving him.” Sam said, his voice creaking with emotion.

“None of it was your fault, Sam.” I replied.

We stayed in silence for a few moments and then I forced myself to rise.

“Let’s go home, Sam.”

He nodded and followed me.

Not The Home I Remember

June 9, 1896

Elizabeth Bassett

Mother met me at the train station, alone. While not much of a surprise I was disappointed my father was absent. Even from a distance I could see mother was tearing up at just the sight of me. We had parted on a fight at Christmas and I suppose the months of silence have weighed on us both. I embraced her in a hug as soon as I was near enough and she returned it, strong and comforting.

“Welcome home.” She said.

“It’s good to be home.” I replied still not letting go.

After a long moment of silent hugging and gentle pats, not to mention a few sniffles, we gathered my cases from the baggage claim. Despite my best efforts, mother insisted on carrying one herself. It was helpful but, I have gotten used to doing things myself and without assistance from anyone. Part of me wanted to prove that to my mother, but mostly I was just glad to be home.

In front of the train station I learned we were walking. I had expected a coach to be waiting for us, normally it would have been. Times however, are anything but normal. Father says he can trace it all back to November 6, 1888. That was the day Benjamin Harrison was elected president. There are still hard feelings over the blocks of five which in essence gave the election to Harrison for monetary compensation despite his losing the popular vote to sitting President Grover Cleveland.

The reference is only natural for men in father’s line of work. The high tariffs enacted during Harrison’s term of office have created a large part of the problems we face today. The ideology of course was to promote industrialization within the United States and a self sufficiency which our country has yet to achieve.

My father has long made his money off importing foreign goods, usually from Britain, and distributing them around the country for sale. In most cases the items are not even available from manufacturers in the United States and in the few cases they are, the quality is severely inferior to the imported ones and crazily enough, more expensive. The high tariff rates have choked off importers like my father and killed or slowed progress toward modern luxuries in rural parts of the country.

I do not pretend to comprehend the full implications of international trading policies but it would seem to me instead of addressing specific problems with direct action oriented legislation, our congress and President chose to use a one-size-fits-all solution, which of course means it fits no one and nothing.

From my own perspective, I can understand father’s viewpoint, but it seems to me it all got markedly worse in 1893. The crash of the stock market caused by the obvious flaw in the silver coinage policies of Harrison quickly took its toll across America. Money starting becoming scarce then and they say that is when the depression began. Laborers across the country have been striking ever since and who can blame them when they have lost more than half of their buying power between inflation, the disappearing dollar, and rising taxes?

President Cleveland appears not to understand the problems or simply does not care. Either way the laborer mood in America seems to be getting worse by the day. The President has used Federal Troops repeatedly to put down strikes and force laborers back to work in what he calls vital industries for America. The question is how can these industries be so vital and not recognize their employees as equally vital? And that is the truth of the matter because you cannot claim to hold them as vital when you send them to work at gunpoint and pay them less than what they need to feed and house their families.

Just a few weeks ago there was another labor revolt in Colorado. Coal miners took up arms to fight off the private party strike breakers and several people were killed before troops arrived to force it all to an unsatisfactory end. There are even rumors women were fighting alongside the men there. When women are taking up arms with men, the situation can only be worse than imaginable.

These were my thoughts as mother and I walked toward home in silence. I was prepared for a long journey, but was taken by surprise when mother turned onto a street I had never traversed before.

“Where are going, mother? It is this way.” I said.

“Not anymore.” She replied.

We shared a look which conveyed more than any words ever could. There was sadness in her eyes and I suddenly felt guilty for being away at school and for the most part happy. The months I have been absent must have been hard and seen harder choices made than I could imagine.

“We sold the house.” Mother said and wiped tears from her eyes.

“But why?” I asked foolishly.

I need not have asked for, I knew the answer all ready.

“It is only your father and I now. You will be married soon. We don’t need so much space.” She lied.

I pretended to believe her. I think it is easier this way for all of us. It was not long until we arrived at the apartment. I would not call it a bad place to live, its relative central location being a major plus, it was also spacious for an apartment. The bedroom set aside for me was about the same size as my room at Carrington Manor only here I did not have to share with three other girls.

I did my best to make mother feel comfortable and proud by complimenting the décor and spaciousness. She smiled but I could tell it was as much a façade as my own. I wanted to ask about my brothers but something told me it was best to wait for father to get home.

There was a nice perk to the apartment though which certainly pleased mother. It had a telephone. Even Carrington Manor was void of one of those still. Although I heard through the rumor mill known as The Paper, the school would be acquiring some of them during the summer break.

Maybe in the new year it will make the distance from home to school seem less. There is something magical about being able to talk to a person you love even if you cannot see them.

Father arrived late in the evening. Mother and I had already eaten and she had saved a warm plate for him. Father was not to be deterred from me though. He waved her off, dismissing the food in favor of wrapping me in his arms and squeezing me into oblivion.

Only then, when he was satisfied I knew just how much he had missed me, did he settle down to eat. Afterward, he produced a letter from Primrose College. He sat it down on the table and patted it with his hand.

“Read this, Elizabeth.” He said.

I picked it up and opened it. The letter inside was short and to point.

Dear Mr. Bassett,

We regret to inform you that under the current standards your family does not qualify for the reduced admission rates or scholarship. If you intend for Elizabeth to continue at Primrose College, please send the full tuition amount no later than July 15th.

Sincerely,

Dean Steadward
Primrose College

I frowned and fought back tears. After a moment I looked up at my father again. He also appeared sad and tired.

“I won’t be going back.” I stated.

“Maybe not, but I have a plan.” He replied.

A glimmer of hope illuminated my mood.

“Tell me.” I demanded.

“In the morning. For now, you need a good night’s sleep.” He replied.

I sighed. There was no arguing with him and he would never comprehend the logic of the sleepless night he condemned me to by withholding his plan.

June 2nd - 7th, 1896

June 2, 1896 - The Lucidity Of Broken Dreams

• Sarah is arrested by Federal Troops in connection with the death of the town sheriff
• In captivity, Sarah succumbs to her injuries and learns she was shot not once but twice

June 3, 1896 - Homeward Bound Train

• Elizabeth boards a train for home in New York
• On the trip she muses about family and friends

June 4, 1896 - On The Road To Providence

• Charles and his family arrive in Providence, R.I.
• Caroline's positive attitude seems not have survived the trip

June 5, 1896 - Nothing But The Selective Truth

• Margaret has an encounter with her mother over a letter from Mrs. Carrington
• Will the whole truth come out?

June 6, 1896 - Home Switch Home

• Penelope reunites with her family after a one week journey home by train
• Her father ensures she is 'warmly' welcomed home, Southern style

June 7, 1896 - The Ostensible Quality Of Being Indirect

• Edith meets Charles Birchwood for the first time and says final goodbyes to Mr. Green
• Edith winds up over Charles' knee, but is it discipline or something else?

The Ostensible Quality Of Being Indirect

June 7, 1896
Edith Bowen

Charles Birchwood was not what I expected. The very name exudes pompousness. I imagined a short, stocky man with round cheeks and a pig nose, perhaps a small pair of spectacles lying crooked on the bridge. Instead, he was actually quite handsome and charming. He is tall and slender and rather than pompousness he exudes confidence. Some might mistake one for the other but let me assure you there exists a definite difference between the two.

I met him for the first time in the music classroom in Primrose Hall. Mr. Green was just leaving for the last time as I entered. He smiled at me and I was suddenly struck by an odd sadness. I could see it in his features, there was a sense of loss as though he was leaving a part of himself behind and suddenly unsure if it was the proper course. Perhaps there was more truth to the rumors saying he was forced out than I previously believed.

“Ah, Miss Bowen. I am just on my way out but I am glad to have caught you.” He said.

“I was hoping we might have a chance to say goodbye. I want to wish you well and good fortune.” I replied.

“Indeed? Thank you. I wanted to ask you to return the storage room key to Mr. Birchwood. While I had no use for the room, Mr. Birchwood should decide for himself, do you not think?”

I was a little surprised to say the least. I had no idea he had known I had taken the key. I blinked in silence, unsure what to say.

“You honestly thought, I did not know? I was rather tickled with your subterfuge and if I am not mistaken Miss Bassett’s as well. If you had asked, I would have given it to you and no one else would have known.”

“I believe I missed judged you, sir.” I said with a slight blush.

“It comes with the territory for teachers. I am certain you will be one of the great ones someday. I must hurry off now, but if I may, I would very much like to correspond with you. May I write to you at the Carrington’s?”

“Yes, please do. I would enjoy that very much.” I smiled.

Mr. Green bowed and took my hand in his and then kissed it and let it go. We shared a smile and he righted himself to leave.

“Until our paths cross again, Miss Bowen.” He said and left.

I watched him walk away until he was gone from sight. My heart felt the slightest tug of pain and I wondered how in our last moment together I had suddenly found a friend where before there was none. Maybe there is a lesson in this? Could it be not everything or everyone is as they seem? A philosophical question for another time perhaps.

“Ahem.” Charles Birchwood cleared his throat behind me.

I turned around to face him, embarrassed that I had stood there ignoring him for an unknown number of minutes. It was definitely not the first impression I had set out to make upon him.

“Good morning. I am Edith Bowen, your summer assistant.” I said.

“Yes.” He replied.

His dark eyes seemed to penetrate right through me. I felt suddenly small and insignificant. I have been in the presence of men of varying authority and kept my back straight, but with Charles it was different. His authority came not from some mandate of position but from simply who he was. I can explain it no better than to say were he a beggar or fishermen or politician and lawyer, his will would be done.

“I have a key for the storage room downstairs. I neglected to bring it with me but I can retrieve it quickly if you wish to see it now?” I said.

He remained quiet for a moment longer and I shuffled nervously before him.

“You must forgive me, I have never had an assistant before. You are younger than I would have expected.”

I smiled at last relaxing as I realized he was no more certain of the protocol of our situation than I.

“Quite all right, sir. I have never been an assistant before. I am only a summer intern. I begin my senior year here in the fall.”

“Interesting. Why were you chosen?”

I paused for a moment to consider. I had never before asked myself the very simple question and was therefore unprepared to answer it.

“I was told it was because of my involvement and dedication to an issue before the school board.”

“You were told this? Do you believe it not the case?” He asked.

“It is not that I do not believe. I have not honestly questioned the motivation and when you asked it made me realize I did not know for certain.”

“You could have said that to begin with.”

“I could have.” I replied nodding my head.

“Honesty, Miss Bowen. It is something I value a great deal. I am new to this school, true, but I am not new to teaching. I have much to do to prepare for the fall term and if you are to assist me we must have an understanding.”

He paused in his speech and looked me over. I had the impression he gauging my attentiveness. For my part I made certain he had my complete and undivided attention.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an expeditious and honest answer. If you do not know something, you will admit to it simply and directly. Are we agreed?” He concluded.

I nodded my head and then realized he was waiting for an oral response.

“Yes, sir.” I said.

“Good. I understand there is strict code of conduct here?”

“Yes, sir. Student are held to high standards of behavior both in and out of the classroom.”

“Does that code of conduct include honesty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What penalties would apply for dishonesty?”

I suddenly realized our conversation had taken a turn for the worse, at least as far as my immediate comfort was concerned. I looked down at my feet before replying.

“A spanking, sir.”

“Speak up. I cannot hear you.”

“A spanking would be the typical punishment, sir.” I said louder.

“I see. Would you then agree it would be fair if I were to spank you in the event of dishonesty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you dishonest in answering my question before?”

I was about to respond in the affirmative when it occurred to me that I was not dishonest in anyway. My answer was not expeditious but it was honest.

“No, sir. I was not dishonest.”

Charles nodded at me and I felt surge of pride as I realized I had just passed a test.

Charles gestured for me to sit in one of the student desks and he turned another so it was facing mine. We both sat down and I must admit to a sense of relief to be doing do comfortably.

“Tell me, what do the teachers spank with?”

I laughed. He smiled.

“If it can be swung it has probably been used.”

He raised and eyebrow and I suddenly recalled ‘expeditious’.

“Most use a few standards such as, the birch rod, the paddle, or the yardstick. Some will use other items like a typical hairbrush, or a small strap, I have even heard the gym instructors use a shoe.” I said.

“And are these spankings given in front of other students?”

“Yes, sir. Most often they are delivered on the spot with few exceptions.”

“On the bare skin?”

“That is up to the teacher.”

“Is there a set of guidelines for what is considered appropriate?”

“I believe the Dean has something of that nature, sir.”

“You believe? Is that a yes or a no?”

“It is a yes, sir.”

“I can see we are going to have to work on your directness, Miss Bowen.”

“Yes, sir. I am sorry I am not accustomed to being direct, it is usually frowned upon.”

“Do you have a suggestion on how we can get you accustomed to my expectations?”

“Time?” I said with a glimmer of hope.

“I think we can be more direct than that. Don’t you?”

I closed my eyes and exhaled before responding.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what would that direct method be?”

“You could spank me for being indirect.” I replied.

“What an excellent suggestion, Miss Bowen. I believe we could accomplish two tasks at once in this way.”

“Two tasks?” I asked almost afraid of the answer.

“Yes. Surely you know I have limited experience in the disciplinary methods employed here. I believe in training you to be direct, I can also gain valuable experience in administering spankings.”

I should have known.

“I see.” I replied.

“You did say it was up to the teacher as to the bareness of the bottom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think I should very much like to see your bottom completely bare.”

His eyes filled in what he meant by completely. I blushed all the way down to my toes. I know because Charles mentioned it a few moments later when I stood naked before him waiting to be spanked.

He walked around behind me. I shuddered. It was not fear though or cold, it was anticipation and excitement. For the first time I looked forward to a spanking. There was something about him, about his manner which left me feeling safe and secure. I did not even care what he saw of me, only I hoped he liked what he saw.

His calloused hands brushed my shoulders and he leaned close to my ear.

“You are very beautiful.” He whispered.

I closed my eyes and smiled, pleased that he approved. He pulled out a chair and sat in it. He motioned for me to stand at his side and I obeyed. My heart raced like a thoroughbred when he pulled me down over his lap.

He rested a hand on my naked buttocks and the other on my naked back. He massaged my bottom in small circles, squeezing the fatty flesh and releasing it. I tried to control my breath but it was erratic and heavy.

“I think we will start with this.” He said and slapped his hand down on my right buttock.
The smack sent a tingling sensation throughout my body and instead of tensing for more I relaxed and pushed my bottom up, eager for the next blow to fall.

“Next time we can explore one of those various implements you mentioned. I am certain we will find the time and need to explore them all before the end of the summer.”

I smiled wondering if that would be all we would explore. His hand began a steady rhythm of smacking, alternating from cheek to cheek. I felt the blood rush through my veins to give his efforts their reward of color.

Home Switch Home

June 6, 1896
Penelope Sumter

Remington Drake made certain my last days at Primrose College were miserable. I did my best to keep my chin up and accept the inevitable, after all it was my words which brought it all about. Nevertheless I was grateful to head home on the first available train. Remington looked almost sad to see me go despite my assurances we will meet again.

The train seemed to travel in slow motion and I often imagined I could walk faster than the train was traveling whilst staring out the window. Then of course there were the layovers in a few cities. I managed to do a little shopping and stretch my legs at the same time. I decided it would be a good idea to come home with a few gifts. If Remington was any indication, my father is probably seething over my speech before the school board.

It was 11A.M. when the train finally pulled into the station in Charleston. I had been eagerly anticipating arriving at home but with the moment upon me I had a sense of dread hanging over me. I retrieved my travel case and slowly made my way to exit the train.

I was still on the top step when I spotted Wilbur waving at me. I smiled, relieved to not have to face my father quite as soon as I expected. I waved at him and then carefully descended to the platform. My feet barely touched the ground and Wilbur lifted me right back off of it with a bear hug and a twirl.

“Welcome home, sis!” He said.

“It’s good to be home! Is it just you or is father hanging back?”

“Just me. Everyone else was too busy.”

“That suits me fine.” I smiled and took his proffered arm.

With his free hand, Wilbur took my travel case from me. We walked slowly through the crowd to the luggage collection. Wilbur and I quickly identified my cases and had one of the young men carry them for us.

In front of the station, Wilbur stopped in front of automobile. He turned to me with a wicked grin on his face.

“Fancy a ride, my lady?” He said with a bow.

“Stop fooling around, somebody might think you are trying to steel it.”

Wilbur looked hurt for a moment and then he grabbed hold of the door and swung it open.

“Seriously, Penny, this is ours.” He said.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Wilbur chuckled at me. I thought for certain he was playing a joke on me, but then he opened a hatch in the rear and told the young man to put my luggage in it. Even Wilbur would not go that far for a joke.

I smiled and hopped into the seat. Wilbur slammed the door closed and then pulled on it to make sure it stayed that way. He ran around to the other side, jumped over the door and slid down in the seat behind the controls.

He pushed a button and the engine roared to life with a gust of black smoke. I coughed as the fumes made there way to my nose. My eyes started to water.

“How do you stand the smell?” I shouted over the engine’s roar.

“It ain’t so bad when you’re moving. Hang on.” He shouted back.

The machine lurched forward and I nearly hit my head before being thrown back into the bench as he accelerated forward. I swear everyone in Charleston was staring at us, but Wilbur had us going so fast I bet all they saw was a blur.

I held on to the seat with one hand and the door with other as we bounced along the road. My knuckles were white with terror and all the while, Wilbur was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Once you get used to it though, it is actually a lot of fun. I think I had a smile plastered on my face too by the time we made it home to Sumter.

Yes, my hometown is named after my family. Specifically after my great-grandfather, Thomas Sumter. Funny thing is most people do not make the connection anymore unless we point it out. I guess ever since the Civil War things have been different and plantation owners like us tend to be blamed for the hard times ever since.

Mom and James were waiting on the porch for us. I got a big hug from each before being allowed inside.

“So what did ya think?” James asked nudging me in the side.

“About what?” I asked.

‘The automobile! What else?”

“Oh that,” I rolled my eyes, “nothing special. Seen one, you’ve seen them all.” I replied.

James did an impression of bass on a line. I enjoyed it for a moment before laughing at him. His face turned purple.

“Why you little brat…” He threatened me with a fist.

“James Thomas, you remember your manners this instant!” Mom scolded him with a finger waving in the air.

James shook his head and joined in the laughter.

After a long soak in the tub, I took a nap for the rest of the afternoon. It was suppertime when I woke and that is about when the trouble began.

Daddy was home by then and sure as I was home, he was still mad.

“I see you made it home.” He said in way of greeting.

“Yes, sir.” I said with my head down.

“We’ve matters to discuss after dinner, young lady.” He said.

He pulled out a chair for mom to sit down and then did the same for me before moving to his place on the other end of the table. Wilbur and James sat simultaneously with Daddy. Dinner was almost good enough to make me forget about my imminent meeting with Daddy. Corn on the cob, mashed potatoes with gravy, cranberries, and roasted chicken, all served in quantities to put Carrington Manor to shame. I was stuffed and ready to be rolled by the time dessert was brought out; hot cherry pie.

Too soon dinner was over and Daddy was looking sternly at me. I bit nervously at my lip and avoided his gaze. He stood up and crossed the short distance between us. His hand reached into his slacks pocket and pulled out a knife. He flipped the blade open and laid on the table in front of me.

“James, take your sister out and see to it she cuts a good switch.” He said looking at me the whole time.

He turned and left the room before my trembling hand picked up the knife. Nobody said anything, but James and I went out the back door and he gave my arm a supportive squeeze as we walked toward the trees.

I probably should have took my time and looked for the least fearsome branch but I just wanted to get it over with so I pulled down on the first acceptable branch I saw and cut it off with a quick slice of the knife.

James took it from me and nodded. He took the knife and began stripping away the leaves and their stems as we walked back to the house. When we got to the doorstep he was done. He closed the knife and handed it to me along with the freshly cut switch.

“Chin up, Penny. You’ll survive it.” He said.

I nodded not trusting myself to speak.

Inside Daddy’s study I stood in the middle of the rug in front of his desk. Daddy sat at his desk working on some papers and proceeded to ignore me for a good fifteen minutes. It is his normal manner. He knows all too well that the waiting is the worst part.

Finally he looked up at me and I could see there was more disappointment in his eyes than anger. For that I felt suddenly awful. It is easier to deal with angering him but disappointing him is something I never wish to do. I had not spent a single moment considering how he might react to my words at the school board. I had been caught up in the midst of the moment.

Daddy stood up and held his hand out to me. I handed him his knife first and the switch second. He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” I said with tears falling down my cheeks.

“Raise your gown and lower your bloomers.” Was all he said in response.

I did as he instructed. I blushed in embarrassment and shame standing bare before him.

“Step forward and lean over my desk.” He ordered quietly.

The hard wood of the desk gave me the much needed support I required to face the consequences of disappointing my Daddy.

He whipped the switch down across my buttocks. I whimpered into the desk. He whipped it down again and I gasped, blinking through a stream of tears.

“Do you have any idea the humiliation you caused me?” He shouted.

“No, sir.” I whimpered.

He whipped the switch down again and I screamed.

“My own daughter, supporting a radical political movement! How dare you make a public fool of me, not to mention yourself!” He continued with his voice shaking.

“It wasn’t meant like that, honest.” I cried.

He whipped the switch down again.

“Please Daddy! I’m sorry.” I begged.

“The Constitution of this country states ‘All MEN are created equal’ not all men and women. What in the name of God were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” I sobbed.

His reference was wrong but I thought it was probably not the best time to inform him that he had my speech and Edith’s a bit intertwined. Perhaps it makes no difference to him anyway, he will likely see us as conspirators and therefore equally guilty.

He whipped the switch down again. I cried out in pain.

“I sent you to that school to find a respectable spouse, not to infest your head with newfangled ideas about liberty and equality for women. The fact is you aren’t a woman, you’re still a girl. Cause if you were a woman you’d know that equality is nothing more than a naïve fantasy.”

He whipped the switch down again. I grabbed hold of the desk and held on tight to keep from leaping to my feet.

“If you ever embarrass me in public like that again, you will never again be welcome in this house! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” He thundered, punctuating each of his last words with a swipe of the switch.

“Yes, Daddy.” I sobbed.

“Get out of my sight!” He yelled.

I grabbed my bottom as I stood up. I could feel the thin red lines striping my buttocks from top to bottom. They throbbed under my futile attempt to rub out the sting and burn. I gathered my bloomers up around my waist and made my way out of the study, sniffling all the way.

Nothing But The Selective Truth

June 5, 1896
Margaret Spooner

“Margaret Ann Spooner!”

It was not quite like home until mother shouted out my full name.

“Yes, mother?” I replied sweetly.

No point in letting on that I knew precisely what she was upset about. That would make it too easy for her.

“Don’t you yes me, young lady!”

“But I do not know what you are upset about?” I replied.

Okay so it was a little lie. It really is not a big deal. Well mother thinks it is but let us get with the new century all ready. Okay, fine it is still three years, six months and twenty-four days away plus a few hours, minutes and seconds if you want to get technical. I do not see why that short period of time would make all that much difference. The 19th century is over and I think it is high time for women to get a little respect.

Then again that would be the whole issue here. My definition of respect and mother’s definition of respect are polar opposites. Not that she knows what a polar opposite is but I like to tease her with big words and scientific principles. Shame on me!

You see it is all about that boy. You remember a couple pages back when I told you about Edgar? We were a little late getting back to Carrington Manor, but nobody seemed to notice at the time. I guess Mrs. Carrington was just too busy to deal with me right then. So, you guessed it, she sent a letter home to mother.

It arrived first thing this morning and I would have made it disappear except my nosey little sister, Andrea, had to make a production of it. She can wait until the next time we are alone and then I will tan her hide myself. I may be a little out of practice but I think I can manage just fine with my hairbrush when the opportunity presents itself.

“Oh don’t you? I should think it would not be too hard for you to recollect just exactly what Mrs. Carrington might take the time to write me about. Perhaps you need a little motivation?” Mother interrupted my reverie.

“Is it my grades?” I asked.

One thing I know, if you can play the game long enough, innocence is eventually assumed. The problem is, mother usually finds a way to make me back down and admit my guilt. May be I have just been away too long but I think I have a shot this time.

“Why would she write me about your grades? Did you fail a class, Margaret Ann?”

Why do parents always have to go around using first and middle names when they are upset? That is one nice thing about Primrose College, even when I am in deep trouble, they still treat me with an iota of respect by calling me Miss Spooner. It takes a little sting out of the situation, to be acknowledged as an adult even if the punishments are a bit childish. Parents seem unable to grasp this simple concept, but I suppose it is not all their fault. They just cannot seem to realize when their children grow up, especially their daughters.

“I did no such thing! How dare you insinuate I would fail a class.” I replied with my most authentic tone of outrage.

“Insinuate? What? What are you talking about, you were the one who…. Margaret! Stop playing games, this instant!” Mother replied.

“Games? Me? I am not the one expecting you to guess the contents of a letter you have never seen!” I shouted back.

Sometimes it is good to get angry. It makes mother feel guilty for being upset or thinking bad of me. She truly is a great mother, she cares so much, but she could learn to relax a touch more. Gone are the days of waiting to kiss a boy until you are married. That is if they every existed in the first place.

I think the adults of the world have just been telling the lies of how mommy and daddy met so long they have actually started to believe them to be true. I just do not see human nature to have changed all that significantly from one generation to the next. Our parents were just better liars, is all.

“Very well, read the letter then.” Mother thrust the wrinkled pages into my hands.

“Thank you.” I replied.

I gasped and blanched and then blushed and gasped some more as I read the letter over. I stood silent with it in my hands for a moment while I forced a few tears to drop from my eyes. Mother’s stern look started to soften some.

“I don’t understand.” I whined sounding as though I was about to start sobbing.

“Neither do I.” Mother replied still stern in her voice.

“I don’t even know an Edward!” I began to cry.

“Mrs. Carrington seems to think you do!”

“The only boy I know at school is Edgar. He helped me with my bags when I first arrived at Primrose and he studies with me sometimes in the library. We have never even had a date.” I sobbed.

Well it is partially true at least.

“Why would Mrs. Carrington write this letter then?” Mother asked.

I sobbed a little more and grabbed a tissue for my nose. I sat down on the sofa and stared off into the distance as if deep in thought. Mother stood by being a little patient. Her demeanor was changing by the second, becoming less and less sure of herself and the accusations of Mrs. Carrington.

Edgar did say he would call on me during the summer, but what are the odds he will follow through? I guess about one chance in three. If he does show up it could give validity to the letter in my hands. Of course if he shows up toward the end of summer, mother will likely have forgotten all about the letter and then it will not matter.

If he shows ups sooner I will likely have to revisit this issue with mother but even then it is not a lost cause. Edgar is still not Edward and even Mrs. Carrington would have to acknowledge that. Actually to think about it, she might really have made a mistake and confused me with another girl who was dating an Edward. Edgar and I thought we were not noticed and other than a letter with the wrong the name in it, I have no reason to suspect otherwise.

“I think maybe there is another girl who was with an Edward and Mrs. Carrington must have gotten Edgar and Edward confused somehow. A lot of the young men at Brown look very much alike from a glance.” I suggested.

“Are you certain this is not you? You better not be lying to me because I will write Mrs. Carrington and find out the truth in time.” Mother said.

“I swear, I do not know an Edward, mother.” I said drying my tears.

“All right then, I will write a letter to Mrs. Carrington and I think it might be best if you write one as well.” She replied.

“Yes, mother. I will do it straight away.”

Of course the letters will never actually be mailed but that is another matter entirely. The joint letter writing will help relieve mother’s stress and make her feel better and in turn will make me feel better knowing that mother has worked out her frustrations on the issue.

Now as to Edgar, well I think I better write him a letter and suggest he not visit this summer or at least wait until August.

On The Road To Providence

June 4, 1896
Charles Birchwood

“Are we there yet?” Caroline asked for the fourth time.

Were I less patient man I might have turned her over my knee right there and then. The other passengers certainly would not mind. That is if the annoyed glares were anything to judge by. Caroline had hardly shut her mouth for more than a minute of our journey.

“Yes, my love, we are there.” I announced wearily.

“It’s not too late to go home.” She replied.

I can only describe her expression as hopeful.

“This is our home now.” I answered.

Caroline produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes while exaggerating sniffles of sadness. I counted to ten and rolled my eyes in defense.

Our children were practically jumping up and down for joy. The sites of a new city to explore, the prospect of new friends to be made was more than enough for them to be happy. In this way I am becoming convinced wives are more difficult to manage than children or horses.

“Come along everyone. It is time to debark.” I announced.

I stood up and offered my hand to Caroline. She stared at it for a moment and then pushed herself up on her own, leaving me standing there like a fool. My hand itched to return the favor but a passenger car is no place for proper discipline, particularly when it is no longer moving. Besides, we were undoubtedly being met by a representative of the school and it would be impolite to keep them waiting.

On the platform I scanned the crowd for the gentleman who was supposed to be meeting us. There was no obvious sign of him. I led my family to an out of the way place against a wall of the station. I expected when the crowds subsided it would be easier to locate our contact.

“Weren’t we supposed to be met by someone?” Caroline asked.

“Yes, dear.”

“Then where is he?”

“I do not know.”

“Are you sure we are in the right place?”

“Yes, dear.”

“How do you know?”

I pointed to the sign hanging at the edge of the platform. It read, “Providence, R.I.” in bold black letters.

“Maybe it’s wrong. Some kind of mistake.” Caroline continued.

“Yes, that must be it, dear. The people of this town are so confused they’ve painted a sign with the wrong name.” I replied dryly.

The children giggled and I smiled at them appreciatively. Caroline stomped her feet and turned her back on us. Ironically, she was then facing the wall.

“Mr. Birchwood?” A tall man in a gray suit asked as he approached us.

I nodded my head, “Yes.”

“I am Alexander Carrington.”

He extended his right hand toward me and I grasped it. His grip was firm but his hands were soft. I concluded he was not a musician and therefore of likely little interest to me in the long run. However in the moment, his services would be invaluable.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carrington. These are my children, Phillip and Josephine and my wife, Caroline.”

Caroline decided to turn around and face Mr. Carrington when I introduced her. She held out her hand to him but he was already shaking hands with Phillip and then turned to Josephine and gave her hand a kiss whilst bowing at her. Josephine giggled embarrassed at the attention. I could tell my children had decided to like Mr. Carrington from that very moment.

When he turned to Caroline she withdrew her hand before he could take it. Mr. Carrington looked appalled. I was embarrassed.

“Where is our ride?” Caroline asked.

“I am afraid we have only a single carriage and it is taking your luggage back to the house first. We will have to wait for it to return or we could walk. It is not too far, but of course the choice is yours.” Mr. Carrington replied.

“We shall walk. It will do us all some good to stretch our legs after the long journey.” I said.
Phillip and Josephine agreed.

“Speak for yourself, Charles. I would much rather wait here for the carriage.” Caroline said.

I grabbed hold of her arm firmly and pulled her close to me so I could whisper in her ear.

“I will not tolerate this behavior. If it is a public spanking you wish then keep it up, otherwise start acting like the respectable lady I married.”

Caroline looked at me with a touch of horror in her eyes.

“My apologies, Mr. Carrington. I am tired from our journey. Perhaps an afternoon stroll would do me some good.” She said sweetly while nervously glancing at me.

“Think nothing of it Mrs. Birchwood.” Mr. Carrington replied.

“Shall we?” Mr. Carrington asked gesturing toward the station exit.

“Lead the way.” I replied and took Josephine’s hand.

Philip chose to walk beside Mr. Carrington and Caroline moped along behind us all. I was tempted to give her a real reason to mope but had pity on her in the end. After all it was a long and tiring journey.

Homeward Bound Train

June 3, 1896
Elizabeth Bassett

“All aboard!” The train conduction called out.

I settled back into my bench. The train was half empty but the third class car was nearly packed. I was stuffed between two young girls who looked like they would be more at home in a saloon. I did my best to keep my opinions to myself but I imagine the disapproval I felt was clear enough in my expressions.

Despite the discomfort of the seating arrangements I was actually quite happy. I had not been home since the Christmas Holiday and while my father had made a visit to Primrose in April it was far too short a time for catching up. The train lurched as it left Union Station in Providence, Rhode Island.

I settled in for a long trip, a day and a half until we reached New York City. I closed my eyes and thought happily of mother and father greeting me at the station. I wondered briefly if my brothers, David and Robert, would be there as well. David had not even been home for Christmas, but I suppose it is only natural now that he is married.

He used to write me reliably every week. Then he met her, Sylvia. She sounds impressive enough. Five foot ten inches tall, dark curly hair, soft brown eyes, curves in all the right places and a smile to light the world on fire; is how David described her in his last letter to me. I cannot be too sad as he sounded happier than I have ever known him to be.

They met working in a laboratory in Florida. Two scientist on a collision course with love. Could there ever have been any doubt they would create something together? Not to me but I understand it came as a surprise to each of them when she became pregnant. Mother and Father do not know that happened before the marriage and I certainly will not be the one to inform them.

Besides we are on the brink of a new century. Is it not time for the old traditions of prudishness and false propriety to fall away? I definitely think it is, but I suppose not everyone is ready for change. Just look at Primrose College and Lucy Meyer. Change is coming whether we are ready for it or not, but maybe the pace is too fast.

I heard an odd roaring sound from outside. Looking out the window I soon realized the sound was coming from one of those new machines they call an automobile. The operator wore a leather helmet and goggles but I am fairly certain it was a young man. He did something to cause the machine to an almost musical sound and then waved. I think he might have been waving directly at me. I waved back.

The automobile jumped up and down on the ground and from my perspective the ride appeared to rougher than riding a horse at full gallop. Still, I must admit it looked terribly fun. I read they were organizing a race somewhere around Chicago for these automobiles, something like the Kentucky Derby only without the horses. I think it was supposed to be sometime in May, I will have to ask my father about it when I get home.

As amazing as the automobile was, sadly it could not keep pace with the train. After a few minutes it was lost in smoke and dust. I wistfully daydreamed of riding in one someday. To make it even more perfect I decided, Jonathon would have to be the driver.

Thinking of Jonathon, I wonder if my behavior the night of the ball has scared him off. I thought if he desired me as he claimed, my gesture of a kiss would be accepted. Instead, he grew distant from it and I suspect he looked at me with something akin to disapproval for the remainder of the evening.

I had a wonderful time at the ball and he was more wonderful to me than I could ever have hoped for, but there was that nagging barrier between us. Is he void of passion or is it really so easy for him to maintain control? For the slightest moment in that kiss, I felt a spark from his lips. I thought it was magic and then he pulled away and I thought it must only have been static electricity. In the aftermath I wonder if my first impression was correct and he was only afraid to be so forward.

In time I will know. The hardest part is always the waiting but the good men are worth the wait. That is what my mother has always maintained at least. I am not so certain, especially when it is so hard to tell if they have manners or just are not interested!

The sun set in the distance and the moon rose over the empty landscape. I slouched down on the bench and closed my eyes for a nap. I dreamed of Jonathon and my family all together at my home. There was new automobile in front of the house and father was looking proud again. Mother wore a new dress and so did I. It was a nice dream and I of all people know that dreams can come true.

The Lucidity Of Broken Dreams

June 2, 1896
Sarah Waters

The soldiers arrived in the wake of the battle. With William Howe, aka Billy Buster, and his gang gone, the miners thought they had won. Albeit a costly victory it was still a victory and in that sense it was an honorable death for the men who would not return. The Federal troops changed all that.

Their first act was to post an order in town telling all miners they were required to report for their normal duty shifts beginning Monday, June 2. Anyone who did not obey was subject to arrest. Were my father still alive he would no doubt have laughed in the face of it and demanded they show precedent that not going to work represented a crime under Federal law.

Their second act was to arrest me for the murder of Sheriff Tom Cooley. The eventuality might have been delayed or even entirely avoided were it not for mother’s volunteering of the information when the soldiers arrived on our doorstep. The sheriff’s body was still fresh and lying on our porch. Sam was prepared to implicate William Howe and his men in the death but mother was still under the mistaken impression I had killed my father.

The soldiers slapped me in chains and marched me off to their camp. Ironically, they had set camp on the open field behind the barn where I had been held by William Howe. My laughter at the situation probably did little to help my case. It appeared they thought I had lost my mind and maybe right then I had.

My jail cell was little more than a guarded tent. I tried to rest but found my mind unable to succumb to the exhaustion I felt in my every muscle. Every time I closed my eyes it was to see my father lying cold in the grass. I think there might be something wrong with me because the tears I wish to cry will not come. Instead I boil in rage and anger.

After a long wait, I was visited by the commanding general himself.

“Miss Sarah Waters?” He asked stepping inside my tent.

“Yes.” I replied not bothering to raise myself from the ground.

“I am General Williams. I am in charge here.”

“Are you?” I asked with a touch cynicism in my voice.

“Rest assured I am indeed, Miss Waters.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m less than assured.” I said staring straight into his eyes.

He did not blink and stared straight back at me. I decided to stand and found it harder than I expected. On my feet the tent began to spin around. I lost my balance and began to fall only to be caught in the arms of the General. I looked up at him for a brief moment and then proceeded to vomit.

The General did not pull back as most men would. His arms supported me and when I was done he sat me carefully away from the mess. His hand brushed through my hair and then stopped abruptly. He looked down at me, his face full of sudden concern.

“Get a medic in here now!” He ordered to one of the guards.

It was then that I finally gave into sleep and dreams.

The dreams were hardly dreams at all, more a montage of memories. The greatest moments with my father, relived through the portal of dreams. The small moments in time from which love is deepened everlastingly, flowed past in a milky mist of cobwebs.

He had been away for weeks on a trip to Virginia. On the deck of the train station I welcomed him home with a squeal and open arms. He lifted me high above his head and spun me around before crushing my small body to his. His hand lifted out a gift from his coat pocket; my hairbrush.

It was early morning and the sun was just coming up. “Hurry up, Sarah. You’ll be late for school.” Fathers said from my bedroom doorway. “But I don’t want to go. Take me with you instead.” I replied while brushing my hair. “A mine is no place for an angel, like you.” He replied.

“I have a surprise for you.” Father said while placing a fold of cloth over my eyes. “But I can’t see!” I replied. He took my small hand in his and led me from the house to the outside. We walked for a short distance and I heard a snort. I jumped back, cowering against my father. “It’s all right, Sarah.” He said and pulled the fold from my eyes. A horse nuzzled his head against my belly and I laughed. “Your old enough now to have a horse of your own.” Father said. “He’s mine?” I queried with disbelief. “He’s all yours, my little angel.” Father replied. “Can I name him?” I asked. Father nodded. “Jasper.” I said and the horse raised his head high and pranced in a circle before us. “I think he approves.” Father said with a chuckle.

Father laid out small rocks atop tree stumps in a line in front of me. He handed me his rifle for the first time and helped me aim at the rocks. Not a rock remained on a stump when we were done.

“This world is changing faster than we can keep up, Clem.” Father was speaking to my mother. “Maybe so but it’s no excuse to let her run wild.” Mother replied, speaking of me. “She’s not wild, she just doesn’t belong here.” Father said. “What difference does that make?” Mother asked. “She has a future and we don’t.” He said. A few moments later he entered my bedroom to tuck me in. “You were listening weren’t you?” He asked me. I nodded my head. “Don’t let it go to your head, but someday, you’ll make a real difference in this world.” He whispered. “How do you know?” I asked innocently. “A father knows these things.” He smiled and kissed my forehead.
“Just knowing a thing isn’t always enough.” Father said. We were walking toward home on the road from town. “Enough for what?” I asked. “Enough to survive. You have to learn to apply what you know to the situations that matter.” He said. “I don’t understand.” I replied. “Someday you will.” He wrapped an arm around me and gave a gentle squeeze.

Behind iron bars I stood staring at my father. ““What did you think you were doing?” Father asked. “Whatever I could.” I answered. “Obviously less than you thought.” He replied but there was a weary smile on his face. “Obviously.” I replied and returned the smile.

I paced restlessly behind bars, trapped with my father. “Focus your mind on figuring out how we’re gonna get out of here. That’ll help.” He said. I stopped pacing and stood staring down on him from the bars closest to his cell. “Escape?” I mouthed afraid of being overheard. Father nodded his head in the affirmative. My eyes grew wide. “How?” I whispered. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He replied.

In a field of grass father lay motionless. There was blood on his chest. My heart stopped beating. I brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. He looked up at me. “My angel.” He said. I cried and he looked puzzled. “You don’t belong here.” He said. “Yes, I do!” I replied. “No, not here. It’s not your time.” He replied. “When is my time?” I asked. “When you’ve done what your meant to do.” He said with a supportive smile. “I don’t understand.” I replied. “You will.” He replied. His eyes blinked and the light was fading. “Follow your heart, Sarah.” He said. The grass turned to black and his body fell away from me.

My eyes snapped open. I sat up and reached out screaming, “Father!”

A hand grabbed mine and another pushed me gently back down. I was on a bed inside a large tent. The faces around me were blurry and the noise was nearly deafening at first. After a moment things began to clear back to normal.

“You are one lucky woman, Miss Waters.” A man said.

“I don’t feel too lucky.” I replied without much thought.

The general I had met briefly before, stepped closer to me. He was chuckling a little.

“You had two bullet grazes, one across your back, not too serious but the one atop your head might well have killed you.” The general said.

I raised my hand up to touch my head and found it wrapped in bandages. For just a moment I had thought maybe it was all just a bad dream but reality came crashing back down upon me. I struggled against the tears threatening to overwhelm me and won.

“You must have had an angel, looking out for you. A couple inches difference and you would be dead.” The other man said.

“I think you’re right.” I replied thinking of my father.

I laid my head back down and returned to the world of sleep, only this time there were no dreams.

May 26th - 31st, 1896

May 26, 1896 - Examinations and Observations

• Penelope attends a final exam, still punished by Remington Drake
• She entertains herself with imaginative insults at Remington's expense. Good thing he doesn't read minds!

May 27, 1896 - A Strapping Fine Essay

• Edith inquires about the imminent arrival of Mr. Birchwood
• Mr. Carrington straps her for her troubles and soon after she must sit through and English Essay Examination

May 28, 1896 - Movements

• Charles tutors Wilma successfully and without the use of corporal punishment
• Caroline seems to be falling in love with Charles all over again despite his harsh treatment of her or is it because of it?

May 29, 1896 - Frolicking By The Sea

• Margaret finishes her exams early. Edgar invites her for an afternoon on the beach
• Margaret and Edgar reveal their feelings for each other after two years of avoiding the subject

May 30, 1896 - Hell Hath No Fury

• Sarah's father arrives to settle matters with Billy and his gang
• The situation quickly spirals from bad to worse and Sarah finds herself in the midst of shoot out and a loaded rifle in her hands

May 31, 1896 - Something To Remember Him By

• Elizabeth and Jonathon begin their evening with verbal sparring
• All is well that ends well but will they ever dance and kiss again? Only time will tell