The Headmaster (14 page)

“Miss Muir did.”

“Do you know where she is? Can I call her?” Gwen asked, hoping to wring any information out of Edwin.

“I have no information on her whereabouts at this time, no.”

“So she could be here.”

“She could not,” Edwin said.

Gwen’s hand balled up in angry fists.

“I can’t believe you’re being like this. This isn’t a secret you’re allowed to keep from me. It involves the school, the safety of the students.”

“I am fully aware of that. If I thought the presence of this person on campus was in any way something I should concern myself with, then I would concern myself with it. It is not, however. And you’ll simply have to trust me, but I am not at liberty to discuss it.”

That was not the answer she wanted or needed. She put her tea back on her saucer and stood up.

“I want to trust you, Edwin, but I can’t. Not with this.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” he said and her heart broke at the sorrow in his voice, the regret.

“If you change your mind and decide you can tell me what’s going on, you know where to find me,” she said. “Until you decide to tell me, I would appreciate it if you didn’t come to my cottage. And I certainly won’t be coming here.”

“I understand,” he said, his voice now stony and stoic when just today it had been so heated and heartfelt.

Without another word she turned and left him alone at the kitchen table. Instead of heading straight back to her cottage, she started walking the grounds of the school hoping to find any more evidence from The Bride. She had the handkerchief. Surely there were clues out there to be found.

Around and around campus she walked until her feet were tired. Anger kept her on the move. Edwin should trust her, shouldn’t he? He needed to trust her. She thought he did trust her. He’d told her about his first lover, his wife, the truth about his divorce. Those were all aspects of his past she wanted to know but hadn’t needed to know. This she needed to know. And yet no amount of begging and pleading would get the truth out of him.

What was he hiding? And why was he hiding it?

But those questions were the least of her concerns. What mattered more than anything was keeping the boys on campus safe from harm. And Edwin didn’t seem at all worried about the madwoman roaming campus. Fine, she’d protect the students herself if she had to.

She returned to her cottage and sat at her kitchen table. Answers. That was what she needed. If Miss Muir were still living on campus she would need things—food, water, a place to shower, a place to sleep. She’d supposedly lived in this cottage before quitting to get married. The Bible in the table proved she’d been here.

Gwen got out the Bible again and this time she flipped through the pages. Back at Savannah State, Gwen had taught a seminar on the poetry of the Bible—the Psalms, Song of Solomon. The Fun Books, as her students called them. But Miss Muir didn’t seem interested in “the fun books.” But the lists of rules in the Old Testament had certainly captured Miss Muir’s attention. The word
abomination
was circled over and over again throughout the Bible. Everywhere it occurred it was circled. Eating pork and shellfish were abominations. Trimming one’s beard was an abomination. Cross-dressing was an abomination. A man lying with a man was an abomination. That verse hadn’t just been underlined by Miss Muir, it had been underlined twice.

And circled.

And starred.

Fine then. If Miss Muir was like that, then tonight Gwen would eat oysters for dinner while wearing pants and reading gay erotica.

Miss Muir…who was this woman? Better question—where was this woman?

Gwen had never seen Miss Muir/The Bride near the cottage. Only on the wall and by the dormitory. But Gwen left the cottage for nine hours every day. Breakfast was at eight. Classes started at nine. Lunch at one. She had her last afternoon class at three. She didn’t return to the cottage until five at the earliest. Was Miss Muir—or whoever she was—sneaking into her own cottage to sleep or eat or bathe?

A chill of apprehension passed through Gwen's body. Was she sharing her home with an intruder?

Gwen looked everywhere in the cottage and when she found no hints of anyone living there but her. Cold comfort that, but it was something. She knew so little about Miss Muir. Edwin had told her almost nothing. Maybe the boys would be more talkative.

She went into class on Monday morning prepared to begin
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. What she wasn’t fully prepared for were the ten apples on her desk and a “Welcome to Marshal” banner strung across her chalkboard.

Her eyes filled with tears as she smiled at the class.

“No, don’t do that,” Laird said. “No crying. We’ll take the apples back if you start crying.”

“I won’t cry,” she said, crying.

“There was a note hanging in the dorms that said you were the new official teacher of literature at Marshal. We might have been happy to see that,” Christopher said.

“No more
Ivanhoe!”
Jefferson yelled, and the class applauded and hooted.

“This is very sweet of you boys,” she said. “You didn’t have to spend your weekend making me a welcome sign.”

“We’re stuck at an all-boys school,” Christopher sighed. “We had to find something to do on Saturday. It was either make a sign or rob a bank.”

“I’m glad you spent it making me a sign instead of engaging in criminal behavior.”

“The banks are closed on Saturdays,” Christopher said with a shrug. Then he smiled at her to show he really was glad she was here. She didn’t bother telling him that banks were, in fact, open on Saturdays. No reason to give the boys any ideas.

“Hope you found something fun to do over the weekend,” Laird said, his voice a little too innocent for her liking. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I prepared lectures and notes all weekend. I didn’t rob any banks either.”

“So you didn’t have any fun, Miss Ashby? None at all?”

“None,” she promised. “Teachers don’t have any fun. Ever.”

Laird nodded. “Of course. Right. No fun at all.”

“None. Now speaking of no fun, let’s get to work.”

She turned around and started to write this week’s lesson plan on the board.

As soon as her back was turned she heard one of the boys put on a perfect female falsetto and gasp, “Edwin!”

Her piece of chalk froze on the board as the entire class burst into giggles.

Gwen blushed so bright she felt the heat all the way to her bones. But that was okay. She took a deep breath and reminded herself she was the teacher and these were teenage boys. It was only a matter of time before her little angels showed their devilish side.

“Actually, before we start our new book, let’s do something fun. Take out some paper, boys. We’re having a test.”

She turned and glared at Laird who had already proven he could do a good falsetto during the play.

“We’re taking our welcome sign back,” Christopher said, sliding down in his seat with a frown.

At the end of class, Gwen got even more revenge on the boys.

“Laird, Christopher, stay behind a moment,” she said.

The boys froze in obvious terror. The class gave them looks of sympathy on their way out.

As soon as they were alone in the room, Laird started.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ashby. I didn’t mean…it wasn’t me,” he lied. “I just—”

“You’re not in trouble,” she said. “Neither are you, Laird. I’m guessing certain things were overheard?”

“Um…” Christopher said. “Yes. But we’re really happy for you. And Headmaster Yorke. He’s a catch. Good job.”

“I’m not going to talk about Headmaster Yorke with you two.”

“No offense, Miss Ashby, but you don’t have to,” Laird said. Then he lowered his voice. “We already know.”

She ran her fingers over her lips to zip them.

“Fine,” Laird said and zipped his own lips.

“The reason I asked you two to stay, other than the fact that you’re both scared of me—”

“Only a little,” Christopher said.

“I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about Miss Muir?”

Christopher and Laird went dead silent and gave each other looks. Strange looks.

“What?” Gwen asked. “Tell me.”

Christopher shrugged. “Nothing to tell. She was here for a couple years. She taught our lit classes. She was here one day and gone the next.”

“Why?” she asked. “Do you know anything about it, Laird?”

“Not really. The headmaster said she left to get married.”

“Are you sure?” Gwen asked. She had the feeling the boys were hiding something from her. “Is there anything else you can tell me about her?”

“She read the Bible a lot,” Christopher said. “But her classes were okay.”

“Pretty okay,” Laird said. “Yours are better.”

“You said she didn’t like you much,” Gwen reminded them.

“We talk a lot,” Christopher said. “Maybe that was it.”

“Thank you. You both can go. I’ll see you later. And, guys, please try to contain your enthusiasm for my private life.”

“We’ll try but you know, we don’t have private lives of our own. We have to get our kicks somewhere.” Laird grinned unrepentantly at her.

“Kick elsewhere,” she warned.

“Yes, Miss Ashby,” Christopher said, and he and Laird left.

She looked out on the empty classroom. Miss Muir had sat in this same chair behind this same desk and stared at the same rows of chairs and tables. Did she like teaching here? Did she love the students? Was she nice to them? Fair? Cruel? Indifferent? Gwen opened the drawer on the desk and found nothing inside it. No pens. No paper. No nothing. But that wasn’t a surprise. Miss Muir likely kept her things…

At that Gwen remembered something Edwin had shown her on her very first day here at Marshal.

“I have an office.”

Chapter Fourteen

Gwen had been so overwhelmed by Edwin and Marshal that she’d barely paid attention to the quick tour he’d given her of the school. But yes, now she remembered that he’d shown her a small office. She headed upstairs and stared at the door to what had been Miss Muir’s office. She didn’t know why she felt nervous opening the door. Did she think she’d find The Bride in there or the ghost of Miss Muir sitting in her chair? She took a deep breath and opened the door. Nothing greeted her but sunlight through the window and dust motes dancing in the air.

And the scent of smoke.

The stench was so strong in the office she had to open the window. And yet, nothing burned, not as far as the eye could see. No fire. No ash. No flames. No nothing.

Where there’s smoke there’s fire, they say, but Gwen could find no fire. Not in the building. Not outside it. After a minute the smoky scent dissipated. Bizarre… Where on earth was it coming from? Surely she wasn’t imagining it.

Gwen turned away from the window and surveyed the office. In the center sat a small writing desk. A lady’s desk, ornate and delicate. A stark contrast to Edwin’s massive oak desk that twelve boys could have stood on comfortably (or one woman could lay on very comfortably). Gwen examined the papers on the desk. She saw some with writing on them but they seemed to be nothing but little class notes.

Test on Thursday.

Grades due May 1st.

Order the new Robert Frost.

Gwen furrowed her brow. New Robert Frost? Robert Frost died in 1963. She must have meant a new Robert Frost biography or some new compilation of his poems.

In a desk drawer she found Miss Muir’s grading book. There they were—all thirty students. Russell Adams. Eliot Bryant. Joshua Charles. Laird Donnelly. Marcus Farrell, Christopher Hayes. And on and on. She smiled at their names. She could put a face to each name now, and a personality to each face. Christopher and Laird were golden-hearted troublemakers—clearly best friends for life. Samuel, the only black student at the school and likely the mostly intelligent. He’d started talking more in her class, and she was amazed by his insight into human psychology. Eliot was quiet and bookish but with a dry wit. Joshua cared far more for math than English but still did his best for her. Good boys, all of them. Well trained by the headmaster. Under the grade book, Gwen found a printed list of names and addresses. The students’ names. The students’ addresses.

And yet, there were only twenty-nine names on the school list. Gwen put the handwritten grade book next to the name and address list and ticked off the names side by side. It didn’t take long to find the missing boy.

Laird Alexander Donnelly. How odd. He appeared on the class grade book but not on the school roster? That made no sense. Things just weren’t adding up around here.

Still digging, Gwen found nothing else suspicious or strange. The only truly strange thing was how much stuff Miss Muir had left behind. She had pens in her desk that would have sold for a fortune in an antique pen store. Old Montblanc pens still in excellent working condition. What was wrong with that woman? Most teachers bought their own books, but here the office bookshelves were stuffed with hardbound early editions of hundreds of classics. An embarrassment of riches these books were, and Miss Muir had simply left them behind.

Gwen ran her hands over the covers of the books.
Pride and Prejudice. Emma.
And Edwin’s favorite—
Ivanhoe
. The boys had apparently been forced to read this book more than once after Edwin had taken over Miss Muir’s class. She opened the book curious about why it held such a place in Edwin’s heart. She knew little about the book except the main character was a twelfth-century knight, and it was considered a Romance in the classic sense of the word—a story with a hero who goes on a noble quest and upholds the ideas of chivalry. She flipped through the pages.

“For he that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil which he forbears.”

Yeah. That sounded like annoyingly noble Edwin. No wonder he loved it.

A page fell out of
Ivanhoe
as Gwen leafed through it. Well, that just killed the resell value of the book. She picked the page off the floor and saw it wasn’t a page from the book but the draft of a letter.