“Land sakes, Mr. McCreary!” Tillie glared andglanced around. Did anyone hear her use foul language?
Nellie Auginbaugh, strode past carrying anumbrella, heels clicking on the pavement. She didn’t acknowledgeTillie standing in the street with one shoe off and one shoe on.She crossed Middle Street and continued to her destination. Tillieraised her eyes to the sky and said a silent thank you. She didn’tneed Mother confronting her about using bad language. She turnedher attention back to her shoe. Her heart seized over the damagedone. Standing in the rain like a duck in thunder didn’t helpmatters.
Her feet numbed with cold, she arrived atLady Eyster’s Female Academy. The rain plastered her hair to herhead. Strands stood loose from her braid. Her clothes stuck to herbody, her hoops fell, and now her skirt hem dragged in the mud. Sheraised sorrowful eyes to the imposing, white two-story building.Why couldn’t she go home? Things were only about to get worse.
As she stared at the building, its sevenupstairs windows glared down at her, and the two baronial frontdoors mocked her. “Go away. You’re not smart enough to enter theserooms.” She drew a deep breath and, with a halting gait, climbedthe four stone steps.
Tillie stepped inside and leaned against thedoor until it clicked closed. She stamped her feet, freeing themuck from her shoes, eased off her cloak, and hung it on a peg,before assessing the damage. The cloak received the worst of thecarriage attack. Perhaps she would be all right before the dayended. Her hem dripped, leaving small puddles at her feet, and shescarcely resisted stamping a dismayed foot.
Girls’ laughter and chatter drifted frombehind the closed door. Good. Classes hadn’t started yet. At leastMrs. Eyster wouldn’t dock her for tardiness. She eased theclassroom door open a sliver and peered through. No sign of herteacher.
Tillie slipped inside, passing the youngestgirls, who congregated near the door. They gawked. She lifted herchin and ignored them. She walked by the next older grade who tookseats beside the front windows. They pointed and snickered behindtheir hands. Tillie squared her shoulders, lifted her head high,met ten-year-olds’ stares and dismissed twelve-year-olds’ gigglesand whispers. A trail of muddy water followed her squishing shoesacross the room to her classmates at the back. Maybe the floorwould open and swallow her whole.
Catherine Foster gaped. “Look at your skirt.Mrs. Eyster will dock you.”
Beckie Weikert laughed and wagged her finger.“Madame Imperious will say a thing or two about your dress.”
“Ugh, I know. Mr. McCreary dashed by in hiscarriage and splashed me from head to toe. And my shoes!” Sheinched up her hem and held out each foot for careful examination.Her friends murmured “oh dears” and “what are you going to dos?” asshe twisted each foot right to left, before dropping her skirt.
Belle Stewart bent and swiped grime from theback of Tillie’s skirt.
Mrs. Eyster entered the room.
Tillie clutched Belle, using her as a shield.Belle straightened up and broadened her shoulders.
“All right, ladies.” Mrs. Eyster clapped herhands three times. “Come to order.” The teacher’s black skirtsswirled around her feet. She walked, ramrod straight, into theroom.
When Tillie first started attending theacademy, she disliked her teacher. With Mother’s help, Tillielearned to look past her strict formality to the lonely, childlesswidow. Her deeper understanding of her teacher softened her heart,and over time, Tillie hated to disappoint her.
That didn’t mean she wanted another demeritfor dress and deportment. She had enough of those. She moved to herdesk, scrunching into a small a ball behind Belle.
“Miss Pierce!” The teacher’s words cutthrough the air like a bayonet, slicing Tillie’s heart.
The girls went silent.
“Your skirts are atrocious. You leave a trailwherever you go. A lady never lets her skirts get dirty like someragamuffin orphan child.” Mrs. Eyster’s black skirts swirled againas she pivoted and stepped onto the raised dais where her deskwaited. She plucked up a long wooden ferule.
Heart pounding hard and knees buckling,Tillie clutched Belle, fearing she might crumple to the floor in afit of vapors. Belle patted Tillie’s hand before moving to herseat.
“Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t help it. Mr. McCrearysplashed me in his carriage.”
Mrs. Eyster’s brows shot up. “Oh? Were you inhis carriage when he splashed you?”
“N–no, ma’am.” Tillie’s brow crinkled.
Her teacher pursed her lips, the equivalentof her smile. “Why don’t you try your sentence again?”
Tillie blinked. “While I was walking toschool—in the rain—Mr. McCreary drove by me in his carriage andsplashed me with muddy water.”
Several younger girls giggled.
Mrs. Eyster raised the ferule, rapped herdesk once, and the giggling stopped. She locked eyes with Tillie.“There, now that wasn’t so difficult. Alas, I must dock your gradefor dress and deportment. You may take your seat. We have a longday ahead of us.” She flicked her hand toward the desk.
“Yes, ma’am,” Tillie whispered. Her shouldersslumped, and she plodded to her seat.
“It is a rare thing indeed, Miss Pierce, whenI get a pupil such as you.”
“Ma’am?” Tillie tilted her head. What did shemean?
Mrs. Eyster offered a faint smile. “Take yourseat. We have a long day ahead of us.”
As Tillie settled in, Beckie reached out herhand. Tillie clasped it. A folded piece of paper pressed into herpalm.
Slipping her hands below the desk, she openedthe note to reveal a caricature of their teacher, eyes and tonguebulged out, her hair like lightning bolts. One of Beckie’s favoritejokes about Mrs. Eyster tying her corset strings too tight. Tillierespected her teacher too much to find Beckie’s nasty jokes funny.Yet she didn’t dare stand up to Beckie’s sense of humor. Sheglanced at Beckie’s self-satisfied grin, tore up the note, andtucked it into her pocket.
* * * *
The brilliant late-afternoon sun glitteredlike diamonds on the wet grass. The rain moved east toPhiladelphia, leaving the air smelling fresh and clean. Tillieneeded to hurry home. But the world glimmered and beckoned her torevel in it. She raised her face to the sun’s warmth and breatheddeep the loamy wet-earth scent.
Someone tugged on her cloak. She opened hereyes as Beckie slipped her arm through
