Teaching Ms. Maple (Part Two)

June 19, 1896
Charles Birchwood

I slept very well. At least until Caroline insisted on waking me at the usual time despite my late arrival the previous the evening. Were it not for Pollyanna Maple, waiting for me in Mr. Carrington’s study, I might have taken the time to discuss the matter in detail with Caroline. Instead, I gave her three swats with my hand which she no doubt took as more playful than warning.

“Did you resolve matters with Ms. Maple to your satisfaction?” Caroline asked while I was dressing for the day.

“Not entirely. We did make some progress but the hour was late. After breakfast I shall see to the remainder.”

“She will be here?”

“Yes, she stayed the night.”

“She’s very pretty.”

“Is she?”

“Do not tell me you have not noticed. She’s hardly more than a schoolgirl herself.”

“Ms. Maple is a colleague, my dear. It would be entirely inappropriate for me to view her in such a manner.”

Caroline laughed.

“That all may very well be true but you are still a man, Charles.” She said.

“You have insinuated more than I should allow all ready but if you are wise and stop now, I will pretend I did not notice.”

“Don’t be grumpy, Charles.”

“I am not grumpy. I am tired from too short a night’s sleep.”

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other.” She said in hushed tones.

I am nearly certain I was not meant to hear her comment. I finished tying the laces on my shoes and stood up. I will likely live to regret it, but I chose to ignore her quip in favor of breakfast.
I had a quiet word with Alexander before breakfast only to discover he was all ready aware of Ms. Maple’s location. From his perspective she was quite docile and ready to cooperate. I am not surprised but I do expect she is not fully broken yet. No doubt she feels rather trapped at the moment and has accepted she must cooperate in order to reclaim her freedom. It would therefore be a catastrophic mistake to assume an emotional breakthrough when a woman’s twisted logic is still intact.

Alexander seemed not to understand but I would have rather he found her angry and crying. In that manner I would at least know she was through playing games. No, Ms. Maple and I have a long path ahead of us still and I do not presume the end to be near. We have several week until the school is occupied again and I will make good use of that time so far as Ms. Maple’s laziness is concerned.

Breakfast was as delicious as normal. Mrs. Carrington even made a stack of pancakes. My children will be forever grateful when they manage to rise from their beds. While I carefully snacked on crisp bacon and buttered toast, I felt a twinge of jealousy. I too would enjoy the freedom to sleep as much of the day as I wished. I glanced at Caroline and she smiled at me across the table.

With a stifled yawn, I excused myself from the table and headed directly to the study. I unlocked the door, knocked twice and then opened it.

“Are you decent?” I asked as I stepped inside.

I chuckled as I turned to close and lock the door.

“Of course you are not. How silly of me to ask.” I said.

Pollyanna sat on the floor with her knees hugging her chest. He face was wet with fresh tears and from her red eyes I would venture she had slept even less than me. She did not appear amused at my attempt at humor.

“Good morning, Pollyanna.” I said, standing over her.

She remained mute.

“I can see I have my work cut out for me still. Do you still desire a spanking for your laziness?” I asked.

“Will you let me go after it is done?” She asked.

“Is that the only reason you asked for it?”

“I thought it was what you wanted.”

“I know you did. It is not.”

“Then what is it you want from me?” She cried.

“What I want is irrelevant. We are here for you.”

“Just do what you are going to do!”

“Perhaps we do need to set the mood better.”

I took an armless chair from in front of the desk and turned it around before sitting in it. I patted my lap with my left hand and beckoned her with my right. She did not move.

“Come here, Pollyanna.” I ordered.

There was clearly resistance still in her but she stood up and crossed the short space between us to stand at my side. It was clear from her stance, the shifting feet and nervous hands, she knew what was coming. I pulled her down over my lap.

I rested my hand on her upturned buttocks and she kicked her legs in response. I chuckled.

“Kick all you want, Pollyanna. It will not make a difference.”

She kicked her legs more in response. I slapped my hand down on her soft bubbles of flesh. I am always amazed at the effectiveness of my hand in this regard. A single slap of little effort and a pink print of my hand is visible almost instantly. In time the pinkness covers her entire bottom and in this way I know my hand has covered every inch of her sensitive flesh.

I continued the spanking well past the point of total pinkness. The loud rhythmic slaps were almost like a drum beat echoing in the small room. I let my hand drift lower from her buttocks and onto her thighs and pleased myself by creating a slightly different sound. For pure amusement I alternated between buttocks and thighs with my hand.

I listened to the sound of the slaps and varied the tempo until I found I nice harmony. In the moment I imagine a unique orchestra. Instead of instruments each musician had a young lady on his lap, her buttocks bare. The women were of varying sizes and grouped together by commonality just as instruments are. Some used their hands others used a wide variety of implements, from rulers to straps to switches, to play their lady’s bottom. The music was inspiring.

A silly fantasy, but it amused me. Pollyanna finally stopped kicking and squirming over my lap. It was so nice I continued to spank her for several more minutes while all she managed to do was cry. When I did stop she seemed not to notice and cruelly I contemplated continuing.

I lifted her from my lap after a few moment when her tears seemed to drying. She looked at me with sad eyes and knelt on the floor beside me, unmoving. Caroline is right, she is beautiful.
I brush my hand through her hair and gave her a supportive smile. She blushed slightly and looked down at my feet.

“I am sorry, Mr. Birchwood.” She said.

“What are you sorry for?” I asked.

“Acting like a spoilt brat.”

I chuckled.

“Is that what you call your behavior?”

“Yes.”

“Now then, what are we going to do about your laziness?” I asked.

“I thought you….” She trailed off.

“You thought this spanking was for it?” I asked.

She nodded her head.

“No, Pollyanna. That was to get your attention.”

“I do not think I can take anymore.” She cried.

“I am quite certain you can.”

“But I said I was sorry.”

“Yes, you did and perhaps at some point you might mean it.”

She swallowed hard. I realized then that she was still holding on to her stubborness. I pulled the key from my pocket and held it out. She looked at it and then at me with questioning eyes.

“Take this and leave if you wish. I will not keep you longer against your will. There will be no improvement if you do not wish it for yourself.”

Her hand shook as she took the key from me. The look on her face told me she expected me to pull it back at the last moment. I did not.

She carefully rose to her feet and backed up to the door. She put the key in the lock and then suddenly turned back to me.

“My clothes?” She asked as if only then did she realize she was naked.

“They went in the laundry. Perhaps Miss Bowen might loan you something. You could take the opportunity to apologize to her.” I replied.

She huffed at me.

“Suit yourself.” I said.

She opened the door and fled at a run. I heard surprised shouts from Mrs. Carrington and Caroline which made me smile. I stood up and left the room. I joined my wife and Mrs. Carrington in the main hall.

They were doing their best to listen to Edith and Pollyanna without being conspicuous. The two women were on the stairs and Edith was politely refusing Pollyanna’s demands that she give her clothing at once.

A few moments later and a red faced and red bottomed Pollyanna Maple ran out the front door of Carrington Manor, stark naked. Edith descended the stairs with a bright, beautiful smile and laughter in her eyes. Only then did Caroline turn to me.

“Did you resolve everything, Charles?” Caroline asked with a smirk on her face.

“Not yet but these things take time don’t they?” I replied.

Caroline stepped to me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Yes, they do.” She said and kissed me.

Teaching Ms. Maple (Part One)

June 18, 1896
Charles Birchwood

When I was a youngster, summertime was the best time of the year. There were no stuffy family members around like at the holidays and nothing but time on my hands. I could spend endless hours doing nothing more than walking the corridors of my imagination. I would hum melodies that sounded much better in my head and most importantly I would enjoy being free.

Naturally that all changed at some point. I think it was really the day I met Caroline, but the change was so gradual I hardly noticed. Suddenly summertime became a curse of warm weather and endless hours of work in stuffy rooms with inadequate ventilation. Even thirst becomes harder to quench in the heat of summer. There is little refreshment in a warm lager.

Caroline first strayed from my side in the summer. The smell of sweat and the sticky dampness of bedclothes seemed to drive her away. The nights turned from blissful to sleepless and so in time I learned to hate summertime.

That was until I arrived at Primrose College. The place must be magical as it for the first time in more years than I care to recall, I am happy in the summertime. Edith Bowen is a delightful assistant. She fawns over me as Caroline once did. She blushes at my every glance, jumps to my every command and smiles wistfully at me when she thinks I am not looking. Her youthful crush lightens my heart and makes everyday worth rising.

But it is not the only reason for my new fondness. Primrose Hall is a wonder itself. The ample windows and proper orientation of the structure leave it several degrees cooler than the outside as the breezes seem to flow naturally through the building. I would stay there all the day and night were it not likely to evoke complaints from more than just my wife.

Then there is the power. Yes, the power to discipline. I have rarely given it a thought but even from the first time I disciplined Caroline I felt the spark of it in my soul. I look on those women who are under my authority with new eyes. I wonder with obsession what each would look like lying over my knee, bent over my desk, standing submissively in a corner with tear stained cheeks and blushing bare buttocks. At every misstep I consider if it is sufficient cause to strip and stripe them. It is often all I can do to withstand the temptation.

Patience, I tell myself. In time they will each give me ample cause without need for grasping at straws. It is the nature of women to be mischievous and especially so when they find they can escape retribution for little things. For every time I look the other way, they will push the boundaries further and further, testing the limits and increasingly believe they have none. My life with Caroline is ample proof, but should more be needed there is Ms. Maple.

The woman is beautiful and she is most aware of it. She does her best to sound older than she is which I find intriguing. She is clearly not more than a couple of years older than Edith. Her actions prove it constantly. Strictly as an observer I would say she wields her authority over students as often as possible in an effort to prove she is in control and deserving or respect. In reality she is in control of little, not because she is a woman or because she is young but because she has yet to discover that authority and respect are mutually exclusive traits. It is in this inexperienced manner she reveals her youth.

Then there is of course the most serious matter of laziness. She has repeatedly taken advantage of Edith but that is not the extent of it. She harasses janitorial staff about the cleanliness of her desk and classroom. Rather than retiring to her home, an apartment provided by the college, she ventures into Providence each day after work. It is clear she is too lazy to prepare a meal for herself and so she wastes her meager pay on prepared meals at the local tavern.. I followed her three times and spoke with the proprietor to ensure it was not a fluke.

It was in fact this very habit which gave me a convenient opening in which to deal with her as I had promised Dean Steadward.

I knocked lightly on her open door in the middle of the afternoon. She was sitting behind her desk, staring out the open window. In the soft light she reminded me of a wistful schoolgirl daydreaming of summertime fun in the early spring. I smiled as she jumped at my knocking.

“Charles! You startled me.” She said standing up.

She looked as guilty as the aforementioned schoolgirl which made me smile even wider.

“I did not mean to interrupt.” I said with a glance at the open window.

She shuffled a little in place and blushed a wonderful pink. If she had wrung her hands I would have concluded she was expecting to be turned over my knee. As it was she knew she deserved to be.

“I was thinking over a change in my lesson plans.” She lied.

I nodded as if I believed her and the matter was settled. This seemed to relieve her considerably.

“What can I do for you, Charles.” She asked.

“I thought I might invite you to supper tonight if you did not have other plans. The Carrington’s have plenty of room and I believe it would be advantageous for us to get to know each other better.”

“Have you changed your mind about asking?”

“No.”

She giggled at me. I could tell she thought she was being clever.

“In my youth, the question was phrased as such before directly inquiring so as to allow a young woman the opportunity to decline without appearing rude and embarrassing the gentleman with a negative response.” I explained.

Ms. Maple nodded her head in understanding but her eyes were still tickled.

“How very proper of you, Charles. I would be delighted to attend if it is not an imposition.” She replied.

“Excellent. We can walk together at the end of the day if you wish.”

“I have to make a stop in the early afternoon but I will meet you at the Carrington’s at six o’clock?”

“That will be fine. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.” She said.

The afternoon passed quickly. I was kept quite busy reviewing at least six months worth of unopened mail sent to the college’s music department. Edith and I discovered a dozen interesting pieces worth pursuing further. I cannot but wonder what possessed my predecessor to ignore the outside world.

Dinner was quite enjoyable. Mrs. Carrington and Caroline had gone to a bit of trouble but no more than made them happy. Ms. Maple ate heartily, as though it had been months or even years since she had last had a good home cooked meal. The conversation was light although it did turn briefly toward politics as the ladies all swooned over the young Democrat, William J Bryan. Alexander and I shared a look of amusement as neither of use dared to contradict the ladies in their stunning political and economic knowledge.

For dessert, the ladies had prepared something new, chocolate pudding. I had of course heard of the confection but never having seen it before I had nothing to compare it to. It was sinfully delicious but clearly the ladies enjoyed it even more. They raved on about it long after the dishes were scraped clean.

As affairs were wrapping to an end I quietly asked Alexander to borrow his study. He nodded knowingly and then I firmly took Ms. Maple’s arm and asked her to come with me. She looked annoyed but smartly avoided making a scene as Mrs. Carrington and Caroline politely looked away.

Inside the study I locked the door and placed the key in my jacket pocket. Ms. Maple turned to me. Her face was slightly red in what must have been a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“What is this all about, Charles?” She demanded.

“We have matters to discuss and I thought it would be better done in private.”

“What matters? You are a music teacher, I am an English teacher we have nothing but the name of teacher in common.”

“Calm yourself, Ms. Maple.”

“Let me out of here.”

“That is not going to happen until we are done.”

“We are done now.”

“That is not your decision.”

“You are new here, you do not have authority over me.”

“I am and I do.”

“What gives you the gall to claim authority over me?”

“If you require it come from another source, the Dean has approved.”

Her eyes flashed a spot of fear. I could tell she knew it was true but just the same she would deny it. She pulled on the door and when that failed to open it she began kicking it.

“Let me out of here!” She screamed.

I sat down in one of the armchairs at the back of the room. Clearly there was no point in continuing until the woman calmed herself and accepted the inevitable. She continued to pound on the door and shout for assistance.

I availed myself to a glass of whiskey and sipped it slowly, enjoying the warm tingle as it slipped down my throat. The young Ms. Maple was looking increasingly like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. I chuckled at the thought.

Suddenly, she turned toward me. She marched the distance between and leaned down placing her face directly in front of mine.

“Give me the key this instant!” She shouted.

“When you are ready, I will unlock the door and you will leave.” I replied keeping my voice calm and even.

“I am ready now.” She said trying to sound calm.

I smiled.

“You will be disciplined first.”

“I will not.”

“I have as much time as is needed. When you are ready to accept punishment you may remove your clothing and stand in the center of the rug.”

“When Hell freezes over.” She seethed.

I sipped from my glass.

Ms. Maple paced the room. At every turn toward me she glared anger. The time ticked by slowly but I could see in her eyes she was slowly beginning to realize she would not win this battle. At last she stopped in the center of the rug and stared at me with a hand on her hip and the other hanging loosely at her side.

“Tell me why first.” She demanded in a whiny voice.

I sipped from my glass and remained silent. Another lesson I have learned from my dear wife is that to give an inch is to give the mile. My instructions to Ms. Maple were clear and until she followed them, I would wait patiently.

She stomped her feet.

“Tell me.” She pleaded.

I only looked at her.

A lone tear drop fell from her right eye. She bit at her lip and then sighed.

“Okay, you win.” She said.

She turned her back to me and began undressing. Her hands were shaking and she made a point of sniffling as loud as possible. I allowed myself a satisfied grin as her last shreds of clothing fell away and her naked back was exposed to my view. Her arms were wrapped around the front of her and I did not need to see to know what they were hiding.

She stood silent and shivering for a long quiet moment. I sipped my whiskey and enjoyed the sight before me. Her milky white skin reflected the lamp light and gave her a soft almost dream like appearance. Had I been enjoying a cigar, I might have mistaken her for an alcohol induced hallucination.

“I did as you asked.” She said.

Her voice sound small and afraid.

“Turn around.” I ordered.

“You do not need to see the front of me to punish me.” She replied.

I chuckled and took another sip.

“Please just get it over with.” She begged.

I remained silent. She sighed and turned to face me. Her face was a brilliant red of shame and embarrassment.

“Better. Now put your arms at your sides.”

“Why?” She whined.

I remained silent. I stared unblinkingly and unabashedly at her chest covered by her trembling arm. If my eagerness to see her bits showed, I was not concerned.

She let out a sob and more tears dropped from her eyes. Then finally, her arms dropped to her sides. Her shoulders dropped in surrender. Her body, in all its glory was mine for the viewing and enjoying. I did both at once and sipped from my glass.

There was impatience in her and I aimed to teach her patience in the course of the evening. I considered my options carefully and decided a conversations was the place to start. She would be eager to receive the pain and forget about the embarrassment; I would not allow it to be so easy.

“It has occurred to me, I do no know your first name. Given the circumstances I think it appropriate I know it. Do you not agree, Ms. Maple?”

“I do not.” She replied stubbornly.

I chuckled and waited for her resolve to wear out.

“Pollyanna.” She said finally.

“Pollyanna, that is a very nice name.”

Pollyanna Maple winced at the sound of her name from my lips. I wondered if I should pursue the reason and decided against it. There was plenty to pursue all ready.

“I will never use your name unless we are in private, like now. Unlike you, I will give you appropriate respect in public.” I said.

“I have never been disrespectful to you.”

“Indeed, you consider it respectful to address me in a familiar fashion irregardless of the situation. If my wife were given to fits of jealousy you would have created a scene by now.”

“If you want to be called Mr. Birchwood, you could have just said so.”

“I am now. You have to earn the right to address your superiors in a familiar fashion.”

She huffed a little as I could tell she did not agree but was past the point of verbally challenging me. I sipped my whiskey, pleased with the minor progress.

“In addition to my name you are further disrespectful to me through your interactions with my assistant, Miss Bowen.”

“She is an intern, a student, a spoilt brat and she is badly in need of discipline.”

“You dislike her.”

“That is irrelevant.”

“No, it is the root of the matter. Miss Bowen has served me ably in our short time together and from my personal observations she behaves with more maturity than you on almost every occasion.”

“That is preposterous.” She spat.

“It is apparent you are jealous of her. Whatever the reason, you will set it aside for this day forward.”

She crossed her arms in defiance. I shook my index finger at her and after a sigh she dropped her arms to her sides again.

“Yes, sir.” She replied, though it obviously pained her.

“Furthermore, Miss Bowen is my assistant and not yours. This brings us to the most serious of issues, Pollyanna. You are lazy.”

I stood up and crossed the distance between us. She quivered and nearly backed away. I could see the resistance in her eyes though and deep inside the frightened schoolgirl was also brave. I reached a finger under her chin and pinched it with my thumb. Were it not for my close proximity I am certain she would have objected to being called lazy.

“Dean Steadward tells me this is not the first time he has had your laziness brought to his attention. Tell me, what do you require for motivation?” I continued my lecture.

She breathed heavily through her nose. Her soft brown eyes stared nervously into my own. I could nearly hear the excuses in her brain being discarded one by one until they were gone and she was left with nothing but the truth.

“Punish me.” She said at no more than a whisper.

“Punish you how?” I asked.

“Spank me like the lazy little girl I have acted.” She breathed.

“I will think about it.” I replied, releasing her chin at last and turning my back on her.

I drained my glass at long last and sat it empty on the stand. I walked around Pollyanna so I was behind her and began collecting her discarded clothing. Carefully I folded each garment, taking my time to ensure she knew precisely what I was doing.

I stepped to the door with the bundle under my arm. I pulled the key from my pocket and unlocked the door. Pollyanna shuffled but did not turn around. I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

“Where are you going?” She asked sounding frightened.

“To bed.” I replied.

I closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

Share The Wealth

June 17, 1896

Elizabeth Bassett

I did not expect to be leaving home nearly as soon as I arrived. That however, was the way of it. One restless night in an unfamiliar bedroom and I was packing again for a trip. My father’s plan for me to continue with school involved a man in Cleveland, Ohio. My father tells me they were childhood friends and this man is in a unique position to help if it tickles him to do so. I cannot say I approve of begging for charity but I have the impression there is more going on than appears so plainly on the surface.

It was a slow ride on the train to Cleveland. Worse, it was not strictly a passenger train my father secured my passage on. I was in fact quite nervous at first to share a car with the common workers of a cargo train. They put me at ease soon enough though and I cannot fault them for manners. To be truthful they were more pleasant company than the third class passengers of my trip from Providence to home.

The sun was barely kissing the morning sky when we rolled into Cleveland. I was wide awake, the men had tried to be quiet but they had jobs to do as the train entered the station and I was not a sound sleeper on the trip. I exited the train and said my goodbyes.

Four blocks away was a hotel, just as my father had said. I was feeling rather exhausted as I stepped inside with my two heavy cases. The lobby was hardly worthy of the name. It spanned all of about six feet and ended with a counter that looked like it was a remnant from a saloon of twenty years ago. On one side there was a brass bell with a wooden handle.

Behind the counter was a wall with mailboxes and keys. I peeked around the edges looking to see if someone was about. Not a soul to be found except my own, I picked up the bell and rung it softly. The clang was anything but soft and I felt immediately guilty for making the racket.
A tired old man appeared from nowhere and yawned at me.

“You lost?” His scratchy voice asked.

“I need a room.”

“There a mister with you?”

“No, it is just me.”

“I don’t usually rent to women.”

“I would think not many women come through here.”

“You’d be right.” He grinned.

“Are you going to rent to me or should I head someplace else.

‘There ain’t no place else to head, little lady. You’ll be welcome here just so long as you don’t make no trouble.”

“I won’t make any trouble. I’m just here to see someone in the city and then I’ll be leaving.”

“Just one night then? I usually rent by the week.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

“Yes, just one night. How much?”

“It’s twenty a week but as you be only staying one night I guess that make it about seven-fifty.”

“Aren’t there seven days in a week in Cleveland?” I asked.

“Six and the Sabbath.”

“Then by my figuring that would make it two dollars and ninety cents a night. We’ll call it three for convenience.” I said with a smile and a wink.

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss. I don’t usually negotiate on the rates.”

I pulled out three dollars and slapped them down on the counter.

“Three dollars, take it or leave it.” I said.

“Your lucky I’m in a good mood.”

He picked up my money and then laid a key down on the desk.

“There’s a staircase just to the right of the door out front. Take it up to the third floor and it’s the second room on the left.” He said and walked away without waiting to see if I understood.

It was a struggle to climb the stairs with my cases but in the end I managed. The room door swung open with a loud creek. The air inside was musty to say the least. I wearily entered the room and slammed the door shut behind me. I turned the lock and then looked around.

The bed was unmade and the sheets were yellow and stained. There was a three legged chair off to one side and a small dresser against the far wall with half the drawers missing and the other half looking like they should be.

I looked between the bed and the chair trying to decide the lesser of evils. The chair won out and I collapsed in it for a short nap.

It was afternoon when I woke up again. I found a wash room at the end of the hallway and cleaned myself up for my meeting. A few minutes later I was walking the sidewalks of Cleveland and headed toward downtown. I did not dally around, I walked a quick pace and minded my own business. There were plenty of window distractions but I had a focus and window shopping has never really been of much interest to me anyway. If I cannot have it, I do not care if it exists or not.

I found the address I was looking for and entered the building. Immediately I could feel every pair of eyes in the room focus on me. I cleared my throat and put on my best smile as I walked up to what was obviously a reception desk. The young man behind it smiled at me.

“Good afternoon, I am--”

“Miss Bassett.” The young man finished for me.

“He is expecting you. This way.” The man stepped over to a door and opened it for me.

Inside was a sparsely decorated office. It was empty except for a desk, two chairs and me. Fortunately, that did not last long. An older man stepped in from a side door. He was thin and his hair was thinner and gray. His heavy moustache was slightly more colored with light brown hair. It was hard to tell if he was smiling but his eyes seemed to be.

“You must be Miss Elizabeth Bassett.” He said extending his hand.

“Yes, sir.” I replied taking his hand with mine.

He leaned down and kissed my hand before gesturing for me to take a seat. I settled into the chair, thankful it was more comfortable than the one in my hotel room. I was nervous, uncertain of what I should say, but the man seemed to since it and took charge right from the start.

“Your father and I go way back to times before you were born. He was a good friend. I agreed to see you because of that, nothing more.” He said.

“My father thought you might be able to help me.”

“I might. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“What is in it for me?”

“What do you want?”

He leaned back in his chair and now I was certain he was smiling. I leaned back as well.

“Let’s get the particulars out in the open. I want to know just what we are talking about.” He said.

“I spent the last year at Primrose College in Rhode Island. I want to go back in the fall, I want to earn a degree. My father is short on the tuition and not likely to come up with it anytime in the near future.” I said as plainly as I could.

“You want a scholarship from me.”

“Something like that.”

“What figures are we talking about?”

I do not know exactly what I had expected but it was not this. He seemed so nonchalant about the entire thing as if money was nothing more than a loaf bread and the only concern was to make sure a person deserved a slice before they ate.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the tuition papers. I handed them to the man. He looked over them quietly for a moment.

“It can be done.” He said.

“Thank you.” I replied a bit surprised.

“Don’t thank me yet. We have further matters to discuss and you’ll have to agree to some terms before it’s a done deal.”

I nodded.

“How long are you in town?” He asked.

“I was only planning on staying the night.” I replied.

“That won’t do at all. We’ll need at least a week. I’ll send a telegram to your father explaining. Where are you staying?”

If I were not sitting I think I might have fallen down. The man was dizzying with his fast paced conversation style.

“I’m at the Dunn Lodge but--”

“Not anymore. I’ll have Andrews pick up your things, give me your room key.”

I felt like a fish gasping for air. After a moment I simply reached into my bag and handed him my key. The man chuckled as I did and then got up and left the room for just a moment. When he came back the key was gone and it was clear he was ready for me to stand up.

“There is an extra room at my house. You’ll stay with us and we’ll have more time to talk over the week. Andrews is waiting in the lobby and he’ll take you anywhere you need to go.”

I stood up and nodded.

“Thank you, sir.” I said.

“Call me JD.”

He escorted me to the door where the young man who greeted me first was waiting for me. The young man offered me his arm and I took it. JD returned to his office and closed the door.

“I’m Chris Andrews, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you Mr. Andrews.”

“Call me Chris. So, how do you know Mr. Rockefeller?”

“I don’t.” I replied.

Wrong For Right

June 16, 1896
Margaret Spooner

“How long have you been home?” My father asked.

His face was drawn tight with signs of exhaustion as he sat behind his desk. The room was dimly lit, causing both our forms to be shadowed in exaggeration on the walls and ceiling of his study. The air was full with the oddly mixed yet pleasant scent of musty leather, paper, cigar smoke, and cognac.

“About two weeks.” I replied wondering if he really did not know or if he was baiting me with the rhetorical.

Either seemed a fair assessment given we had not really spoke since my arrival and he seemed perturbed with me over something as yet unknown.

“Twelve days. Not two weeks, twelve days, Margaret.”

I silently counted the days in my head confirming his accuracy before nodding.

“You have three brothers and three sisters and not all of them combined can manage to cause your mother as much consternation in an entire year as you manage in just twelve days.” He said without even the hint of a smile.

I chewed on my lip to avoid appearing smug or proud of the revelation. To be honest I was a bit of both, but neither would benefit me in the eyes of my father.

“It has not been my intention.” I replied.

“I suppose you think that makes it better?”

“No, sir.”

“I think what you are really saying to me is you think you are right and your mother is wrong. You seem to think being right is excuse enough for being rude.”

“I did not say that.”

“No, your too smart to say it straight out but your actions speak the words loud enough.”

“My actions? What did I do?”

“Have you all ready forgotten your afternoon tea with the Patterson’s?”

“I would certainly like to have forgotten. You cannot hold that against me. They were being condescending and rude to me and all I had been doing is sitting quietly and enjoying the garden.”

“Naturally the bad behavior of guests justifies a temper tantrum.”

“You weren’t there and I wasn’t having a tantrum. I excused myself and they wanted to make an issue of it.”

“Their actions, whatever they were do not concern me, Margaret. It your actions we are talking about.”

“How can we discuss one without the context of the other?”

“Simply, by acknowledging the fact that you alone control your actions and words. It is not necessary for you to engage in verbal sparring with guests, regardless of their manners or lack of them. You are old enough to know this all ready.”

“I was trying to walk away.”

“You were embarrassing your mother and you made no attempt to gracefully accept you held a different opinion from her guests and move on. Instead you challenge them and return name calling with more name calling. This kind of behavior is not acceptable.”

“I stood up for myself. I did not engage in name calling.”

“So your mother was mistaken when she says she heard you call Mrs. Patterson under educated and overly socialized?”

“That is not name calling.”

“What do you call it then?”

“The truth.”

“Is it the same version of truth you told your mother about this letter?”

He held up the letter from Mrs. Carrington which informed of my less than appropriate interactions with a boy named Edward. I felt my face flush hot.

“What are you talking about.” I asked bravely.

“Margaret, I am your father, but once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I was a young man myself. There is nothing unbelievable about this letter except you expecting your mother and I to believe it isn’t mostly factual.”

“I don’t even know an Edward.” I replied in desperation.

“No, you know and Edgar though and I am willing to bet that is the only detail Mrs. Carrington got wrong. Am I right?”

I stood silent under his gaze. There was no good way out and certainly nothing I could say which would make things better.

“Your silence is confirmation enough. You see truth can be a matter of perspective. There are all kinds of truths and even liars can claim the truth as their ally if they use it selectively enough. But, you all ready know that. You chose to call this letter a lie because a name was not the truth, Edward instead of Edgar. It was convenient for you to do so.”

This is the problem with fathers. They know their children too well and can see through all the charades that mothers seem to get lost behind. I found it impossible to continue meeting his gaze and instead stared at his desktop. Tears threatened to spring from my eyes.

He dropped the letter down on his desk and sighed. He pushed himself back from the desk and stood up. The room seemed horribly quiet as he walked around his desk only to lean up against the front edge of it. He crossed his arms in front of him.

“You are twenty-three years old Margaret. Your mother and I had been married six years when she was your age. I am not concerned about you becoming involved with a man, it is about time.”

I looked up at him. Did I really hear that right?

“But mother was furious?” I said.

“She was embarrassed not angry. Think about how you would feel to receive a letter like that from a relative stranger.”

I nodded my head, actually thinking about just that.

“This is really the heart of the matter. You are a grown woman and I am very proud of you, but you still have some growing to do. You see the whole world just as it matters to you. The concept that the world might not look the same to someone else seems to have eluded you thus far.”

“That’s not fair. I know mother has different ideas about a lot of things from me. I just don’t understand why she can’t be supportive of my dreams.”

He chuckled. I stared at him blankly wondering what was funny.

“You don’t know your mother too well.” He said at last.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll let you ask her sometime but you should know you are far from the first young woman to have dreams of a different life.”

Our eyes met again. All my preconceptions suddenly faltered and the world turned on its edge as I considered my mother wanting a life of meaning beyond what it is. Maybe Mrs. Patterson was right. Maybe the world is not ready for a woman doctor and if it is not, what will become of me? Will I live a bitter life without room for new dreams?

“You have an admirable goal, Margaret. You are everything I wished your brothers would be, but God had the sense of humor to give it to me in you. You’ve got a hard road ahead of you and whether you acknowledge it or not, you want something that just wasn’t even possible only a few years ago. I still don’t know if it is possible for a woman to become a doctor but you have my support.”

“Thank you and yes I knew that all ready, but it’s not impossible. You’ll see.”

“That is why you will succeed. You just don’t see all the obstacles which should be stopping you. It is that same blindness which ruffles the likes of Mrs. Patterson and plenty of others. You need to learn to handle yourself better with those kinds of people.”

“Mrs. Patterson is a lost cause. She lives in a world that doesn’t exist anymore and she won’t ever realize it because the walls around her reality won’t be shattered by words.”

“All the more reason for you not to try. Let it go next time. Nod, smile, agree with the one word you can and ignore the rest, like you did with that letter.”

I sighed.

“Yes, sir.”

“I think maybe we’ve made a little progress tonight.”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a problem.” I said.

He opened his arms to me and I stepped into them for a warm hug. He kissed my forehead and gently patted my back. It felt safe and secure and just a little like Edgar holding me only without a few wild urges.

“Take some time this summer and talk to your mother, honestly for a change.” He said pushing me back a little.

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“Good. I expect you to tell her the truth about this letter and Edgar.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“I haven’t told her my suspicions, although she is far from dumb.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I want to meet this man before you go back to school.”

“Yes, sir. He was wanting to visit this summer all ready.”

“Good. Arrange it and let me know when.”

“Yes, sir.”

The room fell silent again. After a moment I turned and started to walk out.

“Just a moment, Margaret Ann.”

I stopped in my tracks not liking the sound of my middle name being used.

“I realize we have come to an understanding here tonight but I would be remiss as a father if I did not make certain this lesson is well remembered. Come over here and bend over my desk.”

I turned back toward him and dragged my feet along the floor until I was pushing up against the edge of the desk. I looked at him, hoping for a last minute reprieve. His eyes had hardened though and there was only a serious gaze of man about to engage in business. I leaned over the desk. I grasped the far edge with my hands and closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable.

He scooped my dress up and tucked the hem of my skirt into the back of my neck. A moment later I felt the cool air of night on my naked flesh as he drew my under things down to the floor. I heard the creak of his armoire door swinging open and a moment later swinging closed. I shuddered at the final loud click of it locking shut.

The leather of the strap was cold against my skin. Tears escaped my closed eyelids before even the first stroke fell. I could hear the quiet ticking of father’s clock and then suddenly the sound faded away, replaced by the loud slap of leather against hide and the stinging burn of the first stroke on a cold bottom.

I cried.

The second, followed closely on the heals of the first spaced to strike precisely the width of the strap lower on my buttocks. The burn consumed me and then the room fell silent again except for the ticking of the clock.

My tears stained the desktop. I would like to say it was unfair but my heart knows it was justice being served.

The third and fourth were just as quick as the first and second. They were spaced accordingly, just above and just below, respectively. I screamed for forgiveness for the third and begged for it on the fourth.

The fifth and sixth were whipped down at the crease of buttocks and thighs, one on top of the other. I sobbed in response and my voice failed me in the endeavor to express regret. Nonetheless my father understood the intention and put his strap away.

I laid on his desk, quietly crying tears of shame.

“Stand up.” He ordered.

I complied feeling small and vulnerable.

He walked around to the front of his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out two sheets of paper and laid them before me. He pushed his pen closer to me.

“You will write Mrs. Patterson and Miss Olivia Patterson each a letter of apology for your behavior.” He instructed.

I wiped away tears from my eyes on my sleeves. I keenly felt the bareness of my buttocks and the shame of the marks so recently applied. My shaking hand lifted the pen and brought it down on paper.

It is not fair, I thought but that is not what I wrote.

June 9th - 15th, 1896

June 9, 1896 - Not The Home I Remember

• Elizabeth arrives home in New York city to learn her family has moved
• A letter from the Dean suggest she might not be returning to Primrose College

June 10, 1896 - Nothing To Hold On To

• Sarah is released from custody after most people in town tell a similar story to the General
• Sarah visits her father's grave and finds it offers none of the comfort she was looking for

June 11, 1896 - Alterity

• Edith gets a spanking from Ms. Maple for asking to borrow a key
• Charles lets her off lightly for not being direct in explaining what kept her

June 12, 1896 - Cigars, Whiskey, and Women

• Charles meets with Primrose College Dean, Sebastian Steadward
• Discipline is the topic of discussion and Charles is seeming up to the task

June 13, 1896 - Social Ineptitude

• Margaret has a mandatory afternoon tea in the garden with her mother and friends
• The discussion takes a bad turn toward, Margaret's time at Primrose College and she finds she must defend her dreams

June 14, 1896 - Days of Innocence

• Penelope learns to drive an automobile with the help of her brother, Wilbur
• Penelope confesses all about Remington to Wilbur

Days of Innocence

June 14, 1896
Penelope Sumter

“Are you planning on getting up today or just going to skip this one?” Wilbur asked from the foot of my bed.

I yawned lazily. The summer heat was pouring in from my open window and the humidity made the sheets stick to my skin. I blinked my eyes to clear away the last remnants of blissful sleep.

“I’ll tell you in the morning.” I replied.

“Too late. Morning left about an hour ago.”

“I’m fairly certain there will be another one in a few hours.”

Wilbur laughed. I rolled over on my side and covered my head with a pillow. A moment later I felt his hand attempt to tickle the bottom of my foot. I was about eight years old the last time that worked but Wilbur has not stopped trying. It was obvious he wanted me for something and was not going to leave me alone until he got it.

I threw my pillow at him which ended up smacking him in the head. He looked at me with a stupid grin on his face as I sat up in bed.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“You.”

“Too bad. We’re siblings so it just wouldn’t be proper.” I teased.

Wilbur turned red as a tomato.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m bored. I thought we could do something together like we used to before you went away to school.”

“Well now that you’ve made sure I can’t sleep no more, I guess we could.”

Wilbur grinned even wider and I wondered how it was possible.

“But it better be damn good fun!” I added.

He threw my pillow back at me and I laid flat just in time for it to miss me. I giggled and rolled out of bed to find Wilbur had all ready run out of the room.

“I’ll get you back, I’ve got all day to figure out how.” I called after him.

He only laughed in response.

After a suitably long bath, interrupted not once, not twice, but three time by impatient knocking from Wilbur, I was ready to discover what sort of adventure he had in mind for the day.

I met him at the front door which he graciously opened for me with the exaggerated politeness of a southern gentleman. It is the little things like that, which I missed and never was quite able to explain to my peers at school. Mother arrived just as I was stepping outside with an overflowing picnic basket. Wilbur took it from her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

I looked around and saw no horses waiting for us. Then my eye spotted the automobile parked in the shade. I smiled.

“Looks like you made mother go to an awful lot of trouble just to have a picnic on the front lawn.” I teased.

“We’re not eating on the front lawn.”

“Oh, the back then.” I continued.

“We are going someplace you haven’t been in a long time.”

“I don’t see any horses.”

“We’re taking the automobile.”

“You’re not going to make me ride in that death trap again are you?” I did my best to sound scared.

Wilbur was busy putting the picnic basket in the backseat, but he stopped long enough to give me the look of a hurt puppy dog. I relented and gave him a smile with a little giggle.

“Why you, little brat. I oughta…” He shook his fist at me.

“You oughta what? I told you I’d get you back.”

He laughed.

“Get in.” He said holding open the door.

I settled into the automobile behind the controls with a confused look on my face. Wilbur slammed the door closed and ran around to the other side to jump in next to me. I looked at him sitting there with a grin on his face and did my best to hide the one creeping up on me.

“What do you think you are doing?” I asked.

“Me? I’m going to sit here and enjoy the ride while you drive me all over town.”

“Nice try, I don’t have any idea how to control this, this thing.” I gestured at the whole of the auto with my hands.

“I guess I’ll have to teach you then.” Wilbur replied.

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t you think after a year away at school I’d want a break from being taught?”

Wilbur’s face suddenly turned all serious.

“Gee, sis. I didn’t think about that. If you don’t want to learn, I’ll drive. I just thought maybe you’d want to, you know.”

He started to get out. I grabbed his arm and he looked back at me. I smiled and blinked my eyelids in my best attempt at appearing innocent and sweet.

“I never said I didn’t want to. I was just pointing out you never asked.” I said.

Wilbur sat back down, shaking his head.

“Penelope, you are really asking for a good walloping so far today.”

“Who me? What did I do?”

“Where should I start?”

“The beginning is usually best.”

We both laughed.

“This here is the steering wheel.” Wilbur tapped the giant round wheel sitting in front of me.

“What’s it for?” I asked.

“Steering.”

“Isn’t that for cows?”

Wilbur shook his head and tried not to laugh. He sort of succeeded but he did let out something of a snort which reminded me of a steer. Naturally, I was nearly doubled over laughing.

Wilbur waited patiently for the fit to pass. When I finally regained my composure, he continued.

“At your feet are three pedals.”

I looked down and sure enough there were three different pedals.

“Oh I got it. So if I push these outer two the thing goes? What is the middle one for?”

“Whoa, slow down there. You’re getting all ahead of me.”

“Okay.”

“The one on the far left is called a clutch.”

“Okay. What’s a clutch?”

“I’ll get to it, just be patient.”

I rolled my eyes again but this time, hoped he did not noticed.

“The one on the right is the accelerator. That’s the one that controls the speed.”

“Okay, simple enough.”

“The middle one is the brake.”

“So when I want to slow down or stop I press it?”

“Right, only don’t press it too hard or we’ll be sitting on the hood.”

“What’s the hood?”

“Never mind.”

I sighed.

“Are you going to tell me what a clutch is now?”

“Yes, but first this hear is the gearshift.” He pointed toward a stick coming out to the side of the steering wheel.”

I grabbed hold of it and nodded.

“Okay, you’ve been on a bike with two gears right?”

“Yes.”

“This is the same concept, only because an automobile moves so much faster it has a clutch to disengage the drive chain while you change gears. So when you need to change gears you press the clutch down and then move to the new gear and then let the clutch pedal back up, but you got to move the pedal back smoothly.”

“This sounds complicated.”

“No, it’s easy once you do it a couple of times.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

“Put your right foot on the brake and press it down. Now put your left foot on the clutch and press it down. Good. Now push this button here.” He pointed to a red button on the dash.

I pushed it in and the automobile roared to life in a cloud of smoke and then sputtered with an awful noise as it lurched forward and fell silent when I moved both my feet off the pedals.

“No, no, no. You’ve got to keep the pedals pushed in.”

“How I’m supposed to accelerate then? I only have two feet, Wilbur!”

“Calm down. Just take it slowly and wait for me to tell you when and how to let up on the pedals.”

I glared at him for a moment and then exhaled heavily. I pushed the clutch and brake pedals in again. Pressed the button and the automobile roared to life again. I held onto the steering wheel to keep from bouncing around and look over at Wilbur for further instructions. If I could have, I would have been tapping my foot with impatience.

“Good. Now let’s put the gearshift in first.” He said.

He reached over and moved my right hand to the gearshift and then guided me into pushing it into the first gear. There was a little resistance but it went into place with a soft grinding sound.

“Good. Now let up on the brake pedal and move your foot to the accelerator.”

“Okay.”

The engine roared but we went nowhere.

“Don’t push it down yet.”

“You could have said that before.”

“It’s more fun this way though.” He laughed.

I shook my head at him indicating it was not more fun for me.

“Okay, slowly let up on the clutch but at the same time slowly press the accelerator down until the auto starts moving forward. When it does, you can let up on the clutch completely and add acceleration in small amounts as long as you are comfortable with the speed.”

I did my best to follow his instructions. Much to my surprise it worked too. Wilbur was gloating beside me but for once I decided it was much deserved and besides I was having too much fun to care.

Miraculously, I managed to avoid hitting anything. The wheel was rather simple to use in controlling the direction and it took me only a few moments to become comfortable with it. Consistency on acceleration was another matter entirely. It took me several minutes to smooth out the forward movement from a repetitious lurching which had Wilbur and I rocking back and forth on the bench and laughing like a couple of kids in a fun house.

Once satisfied I had the basics of starting, stopping, and turning down, Wilbur pointed me down a road. It had not existed the last time I was home so I had no idea where we were headed at first. Wilbur liked it that way and refused to tell me. I suppose I could have stopped the automobile and wrangled it out of him but you have to let boys have their fun from time to time.

I recognized the area soon enough anyway. At the end of the road was our old playground at the lake. The tired old rope we used to swing into the lake from still hung from the even older tree at the shore. I stopped just off the side of the road and smiled at Wilbur.

He grabbed the picnic basket and a blanket from the back and headed toward the shade of the tree. He laid out the blanket in the shade and offered me the seat to lean up against the tree. I graciously accepted.

“This was a good idea.” I said.

Wilbur nodded and opened the basket up.

“Hungry?” He asked.

“Sure. What have we got?”

“Chicken.”

“I’ll have the ham.”

Wilbur tossed a fried chicken leg at me. I caught it neatly and after a moment’s scolding look we both laughed. Minding our manners we had lunch without much conversation until it was gone.

“So, tell me about this Remington.” Wilbur asked, wiping his hands on the blanket.

“What’s to tell?”

“Is he good to you?”

“No.”

Wilbur looked at me as though he expected I was teasing him.

“I thought you were dating him?” Wilbur asked.

“Not really. It’s a little complicated.”

“I’d like to hear it, unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

I nodded and sighed. Perhaps it would do me some good to confess.

“Will you promise to keep this just between us?” I asked.

“Of course. I just want to help, if I can.”

There are some people who would just say that to win my trust, but not Wilbur. He means it and always has.

“You remember I didn’t want to go to Primrose at all last summer right?”

“Yes, you cried half the summer away in temper tantrums. How could I forget?”

I blushed a little, embarrassed by the memory of my pathetic behavior.

“Well it wasn’t what I expected. It took me all of two days to really appreciate being there. It’s not just a bunch of young women in search of the perfect husband, we really are learning there. And it’s not just the mundane of how to be a proper lady and wife but important things about how the world works. I never expected it, but I got addicted to the learning. So, much so I completely ignored the reason father sent me.”

Wilbur just nodded and listened.

“It became clear that was going to be a problem after a couple of months when two of my roommates were being solidly courted by some of the best Brown had to offer. Father was going to suspect something was up if I wasn’t pulling as well. I just knew he was keeping tabs on me.” I continued.

“He wouldn’t be father if he wasn’t meddling in everything.” Wilbur added supportively.
I nodded.

“So, I invented Remington.”

Wilbur looked at me in disbelief.

“I happen to no for a fact, Remington Drake exists.” Wilbur said.

“Remington Drake does indeed, but if you notice, I never referred to him by his surname. I invented a Remington, knowing there would be at least one boy by that name in Brown and hoping there would be plenty more. The idea was to give everyone the impression I was doing what I was supposed to be doing while not having any of the pressure and thus being free to pursue my studies in peace.”

“I think I understand. I take it something happened to involve Remington Drake?”

“Yes, exactly. Lucy and Jenny, two of my roommates, encountered Remington Drake and naturally assumed he was ‘my’ Remington. For some reason, he played along. I guess I miscalculated on the number of young men named Remington. He felt safe in the charade because there was only one other young man in all Brown named Remington and he was quite certain he had no connection to me.”

“The man has no honor. If I ever meet him…” Wilbur trailed off in anger.

“You can’t, Wilbur. Nobody can know the truth. Father would never let me go back to Primrose if he did and I can’t bear the though of that. I’ll find someway to deal with Remington Drake, but just know he has not been of any interest to me, ever.”

“He misrepresented himself to father and undoubtedly countless others. You can’t expect me to ignore it?”

“Yes, I do. Trust me, I will take care of Remington Drake.”

Wilbur and I shared a look in which I think we both recalled the numerous times I had arranged for him and James to land in serious trouble with our father. After a moment he nodded his head in acceptance.

“Okay, sis. I have a feeling I’d like to be there when it all falls down on him.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

“I think we might be able to arrange that. Who knows, maybe you can even play a part.” I replied with my best look of innocence.

Social Ineptitude

June 13, 1896
Margaret Spooner

“You are being awfully quiet, this afternoon.” Mrs. Patterson said to me.

We were gathered in the garden for the purpose of gossiping, disguised as afternoon tea. I would rather have avoided the scene altogether, but mother had insisted. Mrs. Patterson and her daughter, Olivia were old friends of mother’s and somehow to mother that translates into old friends of mine.

“Forgive me, I was simply enjoying the garden. It has been some time since I sat out here.” I replied.

I carefully lifted my cup and sipped the steaming hot liquid, hoping the conversation would once again turn away from me to things I have no knowledge of and even less interest in. Olivia glanced around at the garden as if only then realizing it was there.

“It is quite beautiful, now that you mention it.” Olivia interjected.

“Yes, quite.” Mrs. Patterson agreed while never taking her eyes off of me.

“Margaret has met a boy while away at school. Tell us about Edgar, dear.” Mother changed the subject.

“Edgar is a young man, mother, not a boy. He is not courting me, we have met a few times for the purpose of studying. Nothing more.” I replied doing my best to keep annoyance out of my tone.

“That hardly sounds proper.” Said Mrs. Patterson.

“What is improper about a platonic relationship?” I asked.

“Platonic? Is that what you young people are calling it these days?” Mrs. Patterson asked, insinuating more than she would ever say.

“Platonic means non-sexual.” I replied.

Three faces turned pink and I can assure you mine was not one of them. Each let out a near simultaneous gasp.

“My apologies ladies. Margaret you will watch your mouth.” Mother said.

It took me a moment to realize what all the fuss was about. Of course it was the word ‘sexual’. Any reference to sex or intimacy with males is for some reason considered a taboo subject. Quite laughable in my opinion considering the number of siblings I have or am I still to believe a stork laid us on the doorstep?

Wisely, I kept my thoughts to myself and again hoped the conversation would turn away from me. I took to sipping my tea and taking in the scent of blooming flowers. I would have rather enjoyed myself if Mrs. Patterson and Olivia were absent.

“What is Edgar studying?” Olivia ventured into the awkward silence.

“His goal is journalism, I believe.” I replied.

“And that is yours as well now?” Olivia questioned.

“No, it is not.” I replied.

“Oh, but I thought you were studying with him?” Olivia continued.

“Yes, I do from time to time. There are certain core subjects which every student must study irregardless of their ultimate educational goals.” I explained.

“Do not tell us you still have illusions of becoming a doctor, Margaret?” Mrs. Patterson scoffed.

“It is not illusions or fantasy. I am studying to become a doctor.” I replied.

They all laughed at me. It was my turn to turn scarlet.

“I cannot see any man allowing himself to be operated on by a woman. Especially one as plain as you, Margaret.” Mrs. Patterson said when the laughter subsided.

“Not all patients are men.” I replied.

“No but if a man would not trust you to treat himself why would he trust you to treat his wife?” Mrs. Patterson queried.

“Perhaps it would not be his choice.” I said.

“Now that would definitely be a fantasy.” Olivia said.

They all laughed again as if it was funny. I found it sad. I quietly sipped the last of my tea and placed the cup and saucer back on the tray from which it had been served. I stood up and brushed my skirt straight.

“If you will excuse me, I have more pressing matters requiring my attention.” I said.

“Sit down, Margaret. You are embarrassing me.” Mother ordered.

“Certainly not as much as if I were to stay.” I replied and started walking away toward the house.

“Margaret!” Mother hissed.

I turned around for a moment gauging the situation.

“Your behavior is unacceptable. Is this what they have been teaching you at the school, to be disrespectful to guests and friends.” Mother said.

“My behavior? I think you and I have been sitting in separate gardens mother. As far as being taught at school, yes this is what I have learned. It is not appropriate decorum to insult one’s host and it is not necessary to sit and entertain the company of those who have no manners. In fact it is indeed more appropriate to excuse ones’ self and avoid engaging in such effrontery.” I replied.

“No one here as meant anything as insult to you.” Said Mrs. Patterson.

“Indeed? I believe you called me plain, Mrs. Patterson. In what circles is this not an insult? You call my student goals illusions and laugh at the seriousness with which I hold them. This, I am not to take as insulting?” I replied heatedly.

“My dear child, you are woman who thinks she is equivalent to man. This is what I laugh at, not you. You are naïve and have much to learn about the world in which you live. If you find it insulting to be reminded of reality then you must be insulted all the time.” Mrs. Patterson argued.

“I will not be lectured about the reality of the world from the likes of the under educated and overly socialized. If you are happy in your life and your role in it, I wish you the best of it, but I am not satisfied with following in the footsteps of my mother. The world has changed, whether you like it or not and I am more a part of what is coming that what has been. Again I bid you good day.”

I turned and walked away, not waiting for a response or permission. I could hear my mother profusely apologizing to Mrs. Patterson and Olivia as though it were my behavior which required apology.

No doubt I have not heard the last of this, but perhaps in the future mother will be less inclined to invite me to her socializing events. I have never been apt in the discussions of other people’s lives and even less interested in them. I have, in my opinion, better things to do with my time, including brushing my hair, filing my nails, reading a book, or absolutely nothing at all.

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.