Rain

  Just as I did.

  The clocks moved their hands, their ticks like drops of rain falling on our ears, reminding us that we could wish all we wanted, but we couldn't keep tomorrow away.

  12

  In the Spotlight

  .

  The moment I woke the next morning, it felt

  like my stomach had been turned into a popcorn maker. My electrified nerve endings kept exploding with little bursts of nervous energy. The sun was pouring through my window brighter than I expected. I glanced at the clock, realized I nearly had overslept, and then flew out of bed. I took a quick shower, dressed in my new black skirt and cashmere sweater set, and did the best I could with my hair with the time I had before hurrying downstairs to breakfast. When I entered the dining room, I found my orange juice already had been poured in my glass. The moment I sat, Merilyn appeared in the kitchen doorway like a figure in a cuckoo clock.

  "What would you like for breakfast?" she asked without saying good morning. "Eggs, cereal, toast? We also have sweet rolls and bacon."

  "Oh no, Marilyn. I couldn't eat much this morning. Just some toast and coffee."

  "Butter and jam?"

  "Yes, please."

  She went back into the kitchen. I sat

  impatiently. Why couldn't I fix my own breakfast? I had been afraid of even suggesting it for fear I would violate another unwritten rule of the house or that Merilyn would think I was trying to undercut her. I might as well be sitting on a car fender, I thought, as I shifted my weight uncomfortably and drummed my fingers on the table. I was so eager when Merilyn finally brought the toast and coffee that I gobbled it down before she cleared off the empty juice glass, poured me a cup of coffee and returned to the kitchen.

  "I thought you said you weren't hungry," she remarked, the corners of her mouth sagging.

  "I'm not. I'm just nervous," I said.

  "About going to school?" She laughed through her nose. "What's there to be nervous about? You can't get fired," she moaned, gazing at the doorway. "I thought I did a good job last night."

  "You did," I said amazed.

  "Mrs. Hudson called down to tell me I had overcooked the fish and dried out the potatoes." She glared at me sharply. "Did you complain?"

  "No," I said. "I thought it was all just fine."

  "So did I, but my opinion don't count," she moaned and returned to the kitchen.

  I sat there sipping my coffee. Grandmother Hudson was really a very unhappy woman, I decided, and Mama always says unhappy people are fertile ground for complaints. In their garden complaints grow like weeds.

  The grandfather clock boomed on the half hour and I was up like a jack-in-the-box hurrying out the front door.

  I stopped after I closed it and turned to face the beautiful, warm day with clouds looking like dabs of white paint on a blue canvas. When I shaded my eyes, I saw Jake Marvin standing at the opened rear door of the Rolls Royce. He was dressed in a snappy, gray chauffeur's uniform with black trim on the cuffs and collar and he wore a cap. I didn't realize until this very moment that I was going to school in the Rolls Royce. Me, being brought to school by a chauffeur! I actually froze for a moment, my feet feeling as if they had become part of the portico floor. I know my mouth was open wide enough for me to look like I was trying to catch flies with it, as Mama would say.

  Jake laughed.

  "Let's go, M'lady," he said with a dramatic bow. "You don't want to be late for your appointment with the headmistress of Dogwood or you'll be in the dog house on your first day?'

  I laughed and hurried to the car. As we pulled away, I looked up and thought I saw Grandmother Hudson between the curtains peering out of a window.

  "So, how was your first night at the Hudson castle?" Jake asked.

  "Very quiet," I said, "after I met Victoria, that is."

  "Oh, Victoria was here? So what do you think of her?"

  "I've been taught not to say anything if I can't say anything nice, so I'll wait until I can," I told him and he roared.

  "Her bark's worse than her bite," he promised. "Boy, everything's got to do with dogs this morning, get it? Bark? Bite?"

  "I got it," I said smiling.

  "So what was your previous school like?" he asked.

  "Like a prison. We have metal detectors and security guards in uniform," I said. "There's a chain link fence around it and some of the windows actually have bars on them."

  "Well, you're in for a pleasant surprise," he said. As we drove along, he lectured like a tour guide about the flowers and the trees, houses and farms. He told me all about the Dogwoods and why the school was named for them. He was right when he warned me he talks a lot, I thought, but I really didn't mind it. I needed to keep my mind off what was just ahead.

  And there was no way I would ever be prepared for what lay ahead. In fact, I didn't know we had entered the school's grounds until Jake pointed out the riding ring.

  "Riding ring? What do you mean? What's a riding ring?" I asked.

  "That's where you practice riding horses," he said.

  "Horses? In a school?"

  He laughed again.

  "All the girls become equestrians. It's part of their training here," he said.

  "I never rode a horse. I never even saw one except under a policeman, in the movies or on television," I said with trepidation.

  "Don't worry about it. They have a beginner's class, I'm sure. Only thing is, you'll have to have the right outfit. Maybe Mrs. Hudson took care of that," he mused.

  "My mo ... Mrs. Randolph never mentioned it," I said, staring back at the ring as we continued.

  "There's the horse barn, the hay barn," Jake pointed out. "On the left are the classrooms. The main building's coming up."

  "What's that other big building just past the classrooms?"

  "That's the gymnasium and pool."

  "Pool? There's a pool in there, too?"

  "Didn't nobody tell you anything about this place?" he asked, amazed.

  "No. Just that it was a private school for girls."

  "Yeah, that it is, and that school across the pond there," he said nodding to the right at an even more prestigious looking stone structure, "is Sweet William, a private school for boys, the brother school, I guess you'd call it, although Sweet William is older. The two schools combine to have dances and to do some activities and they also compete with each other in debates and such: There's the ballfield and that's the cafeteria building," he continued as we turned and passed under a half-moon sign held up by two round posts. The sign read DOGWOOD SCHOOL FOR GIRLS.

  School? I thought. This is more like a small city. My eyes felt like they were popping and my head moved like a windshield wiper from side to side as I tried to take in everything at once: the beautiful trees and flowers, the small fountains and the pond, the athletic field and tennis courts, the chapel and a separate building called the Dogwood Theater.

  Jake stopped the vehicle in front of the administration building. He got out and quickly opened my door. I hesitated. If I ever felt like turning and running before, I certainly felt it now.

  "It'll be fine," Jake said, seeing the anxiety in my face.

  go in that door and you'll see someone immediately at a desk on your right who'll help you along."

  "How do you know so much about this place, Jake?"

  He blinked rapidly for a moment, looked up at the building and said, "I just do."

  I stepped out, took a deep breath and started toward the door.

  "Good luck, Rain," Jake called. "I'll be here at the end of the day to scoop up what's left of you," he added with a laugh.

  "Thanks a lot for the encouragement," I said and he laughed again.

  Mama, I thought, as I opened the large glass door, you had no idea, no idea at all.

  The lobby had a dark marble floor and a large mural that went to the ceiling. It depicted angels rising toward a heavenly light. On the right, just as Jake said, there was a young woman at a desk and a computer. She turned as I a
pproached.

  "My name is Rain Arnold," I said. "I'm here to see Mrs. Whitney?'

  She studied me for a moment as if she was the first line of defense, deciding whether to let me take a giant step forward. Her eyes moved across my face, looked over my clothing, and then turned to a folder on her desk.

  "Just take this through that door," she said nodding at the door on the left, "and go to the first door on your left. That's Mrs. Whitney's office. Her secretary's name is Susan Hines?'

  "Thank you," I said taking the folder.

  She returned to her computer so quickly it was as if she were part of it, her fingers plugged in along with the other wires. I started for the door, conscious of how my feet clicked on the marble floor and echoed off the walls of the big lobby. I couldn't imagine it being any cleaner, even the day it had first opened.

  The corridor was shorter than I anticipated and Mrs. Whitney's office came up immediately. The outer office wasn't very big or elaborate. Susan Hines was a woman who looked to be about thirty with light brown hair and dark brown eyes that were a little too large for her small face, pug nose and thin mouth. She looked like someone who was in a continuous battle with the calorie monster, buxom and wide in the shoulders, her chin drooping as if she had swallowed a small balloon.

  Her smile was friendly and warm, however.

  "Hi," she said quickly.

  "Hi. I'm Rain Arnold," I said.

  "Yes, Mrs. Whitney is expecting you." She took my folder. Why couldn't the girl out in the lobby have left it with her to start with? I wondered. Everyone here must have his or her little job, I thought.

  "Just have a seat," she told me and rose to go into the inner office.

  I sat on the leather sofa and gazed at the Dogwood yearbook from the previous year. Aside from the obvious richness of the book production itself, the pictures weren't all that different from any other yearbook I had seen, except for the fact that there were only girls in almost all of them. I saw how many clubs and activities there were, how the girls competed against other all girl schools in just about every sport, including horseback riding, swimming, and fencing. Fencing? This was like training for the movies.

  The theater looked so big and professional. They had done a musical last year, The King and I. I noted that the boys in the production were from Sweet William. They had also done a production of The Diary of Anne Frank I knew that book and loved it. I recalled reading passages to Beni, who pretended she wasn't interested but listened anyway and finally asked so many questions, I made her read it too.

  "Mrs. Whitney will see you now," Susan said from the doorway.

  I rose quickly and walked into the office. This one was quite large, but very neat and organized, one wall covered with plaques and awards, citations with pictures of important politicians and benefactors, and another with two oil paintings, each depicting Dogwood from a different perspective, revealing the pond and beautiful gardens.

  Mrs. Whitney looked trapped behind her large, maple wood desk. I was surprised at how small she was, maybe just an inch or so taller than five feet. I didn't imagine her to weigh an ounce more than one hundred pounds. Her blue-gray hair was brushed and styled with a slight wave through the center, but her hair was thinning so that her scalp was clearly visible in spots. She wore simple gold teardrop earrings, a dark blue suit and an expensive looking gold watch. I noticed she wore a wedding ring, but no other rings.

  What she lacked in physical size, she made up for in stature and voice. There was a strong, nononsense demeanor about her, a firmness in her eyes and face that telegraphed about as much grit and strength as I had seen in any woman. I thought her to be in her sixties, but later found out she was seventy with no intention, not even a passing thought, of retiring. She was, I would soon learn, the

  personification of Dogwood. It was her school to give over to a new headmistress and she was in no mood to even consider it.

  "Please have a seat," she said, directing her dark blue eyes toward the chair in front of her desk. I took it quickly. "Thank you, Susan," she said, nodding at the secretary who then closed the door.

  For a long moment, Mrs. Whitney simply contemplated me. I was almost ready to ask her why she was staring at me so hard, but I didn't have the nerve to utter a syllable. She had a way of

  commanding with her eyes, dominating with her firm posture.

  "I am fully aware of your situation," she began. "Mrs. Hudson and I are close friends and Mrs. Hudson is a significant benefactor of Dogwood."

  Mrs. Whitney wore only a trace of lipstick and some powder on her cheeks. Her chin was sharp and the skin was taut up to her ears, so that the very bones of her face seemed to rub when she spoke. Her forehead was as wrinkled as one of Ken's shirts and the lines at her eyes and around her mouth were like sharp, dark slices, but if her face was aging, her mind was not. She looked like she could leap out of her old body anytime she wanted and challenge anyone to anything.

  I was truly impressed.

  "The moment you walk out that door today, this part of our conversation is buried and forgotten unless Mrs. Hudson herself resurrects it. You understand?"

  "Yes, ma'am," I replied, afraid my voice would crack or that I wouldn't get up enough air to make a sound. "Good. Now to the school and you," she began opening my folder. "We already have your transcripts and you do look to be a worthwhile academic candidate, although I have my doubts as to the quality of your education up to this point. We'll see:' she added cautiously. "Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.

  "Dogwood is one of the oldest private institutions of its kind in this state. We are dedicated to offering not only a rigorous college-preparatory program, but a well-rounded education. Our girls leave here fit for the intellectual, ethical and

  emotional challenges of life. We instill confidence, leadership, independence, self-esteem. Recent studies strongly suggest that girls who attend single sex institutions possess more positive attitudes toward academics.

  "At the same time," she continued, "we recognize that young women need to become aware of different viewpoints and have to learn how to work with young men in a variety of -settings. That's why we encourage our girls to participate in the

  cooperative ventures between Dogwood and Sweet William.

  "You've been given a wonderful opportunity, my dear. I hope you appreciate it and will make every effort to live up to our standards of behavior and excellence.

  "I won't take up your time now to go over these rules," she said, handing me a small pamphlet, "but I do expect you will read this and commit them to memory. I know you will find vast differences in the level of expectation here and what you were accustomed to in the inner city. We are proud of the fact that we have never had a single instance of drug abuse, vandalism or violence at our school. We won't tolerate even a suggestion of such a thing."

  "Neither would my Mama:' I said sharply.

  She raised her thin eyebrows, but I was tired of everyone who looked at me and knew where I was from assuming I had been either a member of a gang, a girl with loose morals, or a thief just because I had darker skin and came from a low income neighborhood. People rose above their problems and situations, didn't they?

  "Good," Mrs. Whitney said. "I don't want to waste the precious time you'll need to get accustomed to your new surroundings. Just be assured that I will take a personal interest in your progress as a favor to Mrs. Hudson."

  I was going to say, "Thank you, I think," but I just said, "Thank you."

  "Susan will personally escort you to your academic adviser, Mr. Bufurd, who happens to be our dramatics instructor as well. In fact, he has casting today for our final school production of the year, Our Town. Do you know it?"

  "Very well," I said. "It's one of my favorites. We read it in tenth grade."

  "That's very good," she said, obviously impressed. She rose and started around her desk, which was when I noticed she had a very bad limp. I guess I had a surprised look on my face. She paused.

  "T
his isn't from an injury," she said. "I was born with a defect, one leg shorter than the other. It obviously reduced my chances to be in the Olympics;' she added. For a moment she kept her face serious and then smiled and I laughed. It was like cracking a wall of ice between us. "That and my height and size informed me at an early age that I would have to compensate in other ways, so I won a Fulbright, got my doctorate in education before I was thirty, wrote two well-received books on educational philosophy and became the headmistress of Dogwood.

  "As I think you can appreciate and understand, Miss Arnold," she said with a sharp twinkle in her eyes, "disadvantages can be a good thing if they serve to motivate us to overcome them:'

  I think I like her, I thought, and suddenly, I was no longer afraid of this place or the people in it.

  The walk from the administrative building to the classroom was through a beautiful garden setting. The sunlight was still elbowing aside any cloud cover and bringing out the vibrant colors.

  "You're from Washington, D.C.?" Susan asked as we walked. "Born there, I mean?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Oh, you don't have to call me ma'am, honey. I'm just hired help," she said with a laugh. "I'm from Richmond, never got far away," she said.

  "How long have you been working here?"

  "Three and a half years. Mrs. Whitney's wonderful to work for, an elegant lady. I hope you like her," she said. "Everybody here's pretty nice. My mama was hoping I'd meet a handsome professor and get married, but that hasn't happened yet;' she said with a small giggle. Outside of the office, walking along with me, she suddenly didn't look all that much older.

  A group of girls burst out of the classroom building and walked quickly toward the horse barn and ring, all seemingly talking at once. They were dressed in fancy riding outfits and they all looked younger than me. I was surprised to see other girls of color in the group. I heard what sounded like foreign accents, too.

  "Those two are from France," Susan said, nodding at the last two in the group, "and the cute little redhead is from Brazil."