Meg at Sixteen

  “Yes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said. She’d managed her midnight tryst with Nick, and had for the two days since then been a model prisoner, always polite, never rebellious. Sunday had finally arrived, and with it, an outing to church, and then who knew what wonderful new freedoms. Meg refused to believe she’d be locked up again, at least not on the Sabbath.

  It felt great to be in a car moving anywhere, even if the distance was short and the company unpleasant. Meg stared out the window, saw the people she’d grown up with as they too approached their house of worship. The weather was perfect, sunny and in the eighties. Meg wondered if she might be able to convince Grace to let her have a walk around the garden once they got home. She knew better than to ask for swimming privileges, but Grace might have it in her heart to agree to a short, well-supervised stroll. Meg pictured plunging a dagger into that shriveled heart, and giggled with pleasure at the image.

  “I fail to see what’s humorous,” Aunt Grace said. “Do you intend to laugh like a hyena throughout the service?”

  Probably, Meg thought, but she shook her head and tried to look somber. You’re an old woman, she said to Grace silently, and I’m young and in love and that terrifies you. She tried picturing Aunt Grace young, and even though she’d seen many photographs of her in her teens, she couldn’t imagine it.

  “People may ask questions,” Aunt Grace said. “You will know better than to answer them.”

  “Yes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said.

  “Very well,” Grace said. “Stay by my side at all times, and remember, this is a church service, and not some picnic event for you to run wild at.”

  Meg nodded. She followed Grace out of the car, and to their pew at the church. She saw all the familiar faces there, and was certain she was being stared at. Everyone in town must know what’s going on, she decided, and Aunt Grace is probably embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed that she has a niece capable of falling in love in such a spectacular fashion. Meg’s dress was navy blue, conservative and completely acceptable, but she felt as though she were wearing scarlet. She began to blush, and could feel herself shaking.

  “Stop making a spectacle of yourself,” Aunt Grace whispered, and grabbing Meg’s arm, pulled her to their seats. Meg pushed her imaginary dagger deeper into Grace, then thought how inappropriate the thought was inside a church, and blushed all the harder.

  “Sit down,” Aunt Grace whispered, and gave Meg a push. Meg sat. She looked down, trying to keep from crying. She’d been looking forward to this trip for days, and now Aunt Grace was turning it into another nightmare. She could hear the whispers around her, and she was sure she made out the word “unstable” from a row or two behind her.

  Then suddenly she thought, Maybe Nicky is here. The church was a public place, after all, and while she and Nick had never discussed religion, she was sure he was some sort of compatible denomination, and would feel perfectly at ease in her church. The idea that he was there, under the same roof, made her look up and around, but there was no Nick.

  “Stop gawking,” Aunt Grace said. “You’re acting like a tourist.”

  Meg began to lower her head, but before she completely sank into embarrassed oblivion, she caught a glimpse of Clark, who smiled at her. She smiled back. At least she had one friend there. That was more than Aunt Grace had.

  The service, which usually dragged for Meg, went entirely too fast. Meg was certain that her behavior had made Grace decide to lock her back up as soon as they got home, all that running and blushing and gawking, just the kinds of things Grace hated. Meg pictured Grace slipping handcuffs on her, but she didn’t even smile. No freedom, no Nick, no smiles.

  After the service, Grace stood around with Meg by her side, and said hello to various people, almost as though it were an average Sunday morning. Nobody said anything to them about Meg’s peculiar behavior of late, and Grace certainly didn’t bring it up. Meg thought about making a break for it, running away on that beautiful July morning, vanishing into the netherworlds of Eastgate, finding Nick, finding a new home, but she hardly had the strength to stand there, exposed in public, and she knew she wouldn’t make it fifty feet before collapsing into a blushing heap. Awful as it was, it was easier to stand next to Grace and mumble the sorts of things people expected her to mumble. What a pretty day it was. What a stimulating sermon. How good the choir sounded. How lovely her birthday party had been. Mumble and stoop, just the way Grace claimed.

  “Come, Margaret,” Aunt Grace said, when the socializing time of the day had ended. “It’s time to go back home.”

  “Yes, Aunt Grace,” Meg said. She tried to look around inconspicuously, in case Nick had slipped into the neighborhood, was lurking around in a doorway or behind a tree, waiting for her to see him so he could say, “I love you.” But if Nick was there, he was doing too good a job at lurking, and Meg couldn’t find him. He probably wasn’t there. Meg suspected she’d made him up, that none of this had happened, that Grace had always kept her locked up because of her unstable tendencies.

  “You will stay downstairs for dinner,” Aunt Grace declared, once they were in the privacy of the car. “Depending on your behavior, I may allow you to spend the rest of the day in the parlor.”

  Meg wanted to ask if she could walk through the garden, but she lacked the courage. “Thank you, Aunt Grace,” she said instead.

  “Stop mumbling,” Aunt Grace said. “I shall have to see if at St. Bartholomew’s they can provide you with speech lessons. You certainly need to learn to enunciate.”

  “Is that the name of the school?” Meg asked. “St. Bartholomew’s?”

  “Yes,” Grace replied. “It’s an excellent school too. Father John mentioned to me yesterday that he knew a young girl several years back who had been an enormous worry to her parents, she drank, he said, and got into trouble with the law, and after three years at St. Bartholomew’s, she was able to return to society and behave quite properly.”

  “What kind of trouble with the law?” Meg asked.

  “He wasn’t at liberty to tell me,” Aunt Grace said. “But I imagine he was talking about the Bishop girl. I know she went to St. Bartholomew’s.”

  Meg tried to remember all she could about Georgina Bishop. “She’s married now, isn’t she,” she said.

  “To the Phelps boy,” Aunt Grace said. “A fine match. I’m sure she regarded her three years at St. Bartholomew’s as a small price to pay for being able to assume her proper role in life.”

  Meg pictured herself spending two years at St. Bartholomew’s, only to graduate into marriage with Clark. If the car had been moving faster, she would have flung herself out of it.

  “I spoke to Maude Bishop about St. Bartholomew’s,” Aunt Grace declared. “While Marcus and I were discussing your alternatives.”

  “What’s it like there?” Meg asked, trying to sound casual without mumbling.

  “Of course they’re very strict,” Aunt Grace said. “That’s the whole point of a school of that sort. To provide girls from proper families with a school that offers them sufficient structure to keep them from sordid mistakes.”

  “Do a lot of Americans go there?” Meg asked.

  “My understanding is it’s quite an international school,” Aunt Grace replied. “It seems there are girls with your sort of behavior problems to be found in many different countries.”

  “That sounds nice,” Meg said, not knowing what she was supposed to say.

  Apparently, she’d guessed wrong. Aunt Grace barked with laughter. “It’s hardly nice,” she said. “To satisfy Marcus, I had to find a school with the strictest of guidelines. There are morning prayers at six, and lights are out by nine. Classes are held six days a week, and the only free time is three hours Sunday afternoons.”

  “Oh,” Meg said. Miss Arnold’s was starting to sound like a pleasure palace in comparison.

  “The British are quite a bit stricter than Americans,” Aunt Grace declared. “I probably should have taken you out of Miss Arnold’s when I assumed your cu
stodianship. You obviously need more structure than you’d been receiving there.”

  The car pulled into the circular driveway, and Grace and Meg entered the house together. Meg wondered how long she’d be allowed to stay downstairs, and whether in a few months’ time, her stay at Eastgate would seem like a festival of freedom.

  They sat down for dinner soon after they got in. The dining room always seemed empty with just the two of them there, but, as always, Meg was glad for whatever distance the large table provided between her and Grace.

  “You mentioned that we might spend Christmas together,” Meg said. She knew she was a fool to ask more questions about the school, but it was like an aching tooth that constantly drew the tongue to it. “Are the girls allowed much time away from school?”

  Aunt Grace speared a piece of ham from her plate. “Very little,” she replied. “And of course, none of it unsupervised. During the first six months, new girls are not allowed to leave the grounds at all, except at Christmas. Thereafter, if their behavior proves them trustworthy, they may go to town in a group, accompanied by two of the sisters, once a month to buy toiletries and the like. In addition, in case you’re getting any ideas, they are allowed no visitors outside their immediate families, and any letters they send out or receive are read by the sisters.”

  “Then they can get letters,” Meg said. It was such a small thing, but it was all Grace was leaving her.

  “I will give them a list of people you may receive mail from,” Aunt Grace replied. “Nick Sebastian’s name will not be on that list.”

  Meg knew better than to ask about phone calls. For two years, she knew, she wouldn’t see Nick, or even hear from him. Two years, and that was the better of the two alternatives Grace was offering her. “What are the rooms like?” she asked instead.

  “There are no rooms,” Grace declared. “Not the sort you’re used to at Miss Arnold’s. The girls sleep in dormitories, twenty beds to a room. According to Maude Bishop, Georgina complained about the lack of heat her entire stay there.”

  Meg wondered how much this hellhole cost, then decided the price was probably quite high. After all, the parents who sent their daughters there could sleep comfortably in their well-heated bedrooms, knowing how cleverly they were punishing their offspring.

  “I’m sure I’ll learn a lot there,” Meg said.

  “Yes,” Aunt Grace replied. “Undoubtedly you will.”

  Meg ate as much as she could of her lunch, not wishing to alienate Grace even further by showing a lack of appetite. She thought she could bear anything if she knew that Nick was there for her, but two years of enforced isolation with no chance of seeing him might be more than she could handle. And she knew the risk existed that Nick might not wait for her.

  Following lunch, Grace made no mention of Meg returning to her room, so she went instead into the parlor, where she sat doing needlepoint while Grace read. Occasionally she gazed out the window, but Grace didn’t take the hint. Meg thought about going to the piano and playing some music appropriate to Sunday afternoon, but she didn’t know if that pleasure was also forbidden, and she lacked the courage to find out. Meg could feel Aunt Grace’s stare every now and again, but tried hard not to look up, tried harder not to blush. They sat that way for an hour, until the doorbell rang.

  Delman had Sundays off, so one of the maids answered the door, and let Clark Bradford and his father in. They were ushered to the parlor, where Grace greeted them.

  “I’m pleased to see you both here,” Mr. Bradford declared, after sitting down and refusing the offer of lemonade. “I heard some distressing news, that I thought it my place to share with you.”

  Meg put down her needlepoint and glanced at Clark. He shook his head slightly, and Meg knew it was going to be bad.

  “It concerns that Sebastian fellow,” Mr. Bradford said. “The one who made such a fuss at Margaret’s party.”

  “Has he committed a crime?” Aunt Grace asked. “Have the police been called in?”

  “It’s not like that,” Clark said, but his father shushed him.

  “It’s a great deal like that,” Mr. Bradford said. “My understanding was you’d made it quite clear to Sebastian that he wasn’t welcome in Eastgate.”

  “I believe he knows that,” Aunt Grace said.

  “I should have spoken to him,” Mr. Bradford said. “I know this is a family matter, and I’m not family, but there are times when a man simply has to step in, and this, I’m afraid, was one of them.”

  “What happened?” Meg asked. Had Nick been hurt? How badly did he need her?

  “I’ve just come from the club,” Mr. Bradford said. “We decided to have lunch there, then do a bit of sailing. And Sebastian was all people were talking about.”

  “Not in reference to Margaret?” Grace said, and Meg could hear a layer of panic in her voice.

  “Thank heavens no,” Mr. Bradford replied. “No, the scandal this time revolves around Sebastian and Caroline Sinclair.”

  “Mrs. Sinclair?” Meg asked. “What does she have to do with anything?”

  “Margaret, be still,” Aunt Grace said. “Or I shall have to tell you to leave the room.”

  “No, don’t, she should hear this,” Mr. Bradford said. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, the Sinclairs had invited Sebastian to spend the summer with them, although they hardly knew the boy.”

  “No one seems to know him well,” Aunt Grace said. “I suspect he’s a confidence man.”

  “You may be right,” Mr. Bradford said. “In any case, following that ugly scene at Margaret’s party, the Sinclairs told him to leave. They expected, as you did, that he would leave Eastgate altogether, move on to some other resort, or else revert to his own social level and get a job waiting tables or caddying. It was no concern of theirs, once Henry and Caroline got Robert to swear he would have no further contact with Sebastian back at Princeton.”

  “But he didn’t leave,” Aunt Grace said. “He’s still here, I gather.”

  “Worse even than that,” Mr. Bradford declared. “Caroline Sinclair found some of his belongings in her house, and she foolishly decided to return them on her own.”

  “Caroline Sinclair has a foolish streak,” Aunt Grace said. “It’s gotten her into trouble over the years.”

  “It did once again,” Mr. Bradford said. “She went to some wretched boardinghouse Sebastian has holed himself up in, and after she returned his things to him, he grew ugly and made advances.”

  Aunt Grace sat up even straighter than usual. “I wish I could say I was surprised,” she said. “But I could see the animal in him from the start.”

  “Fortunately, Caroline was able to escape,” Mr. Bradford said. “She was quite distraught over the incident. Henry threatened to chase him out of town with a bull-whip, and several of us at the club would have been more than willing to join him.”

  “Is she pressing charges?” Aunt Grace asked.

  Mr. Bradford shook his head. “They want to avoid a scandal,” he replied. “To protect Isabelle as much as anything else. But I felt you should know, especially as Sebastian appears to be remaining here, with no sense of shame or decency. I’m afraid he might make some kind of effort to see Margaret again. A man like that could resort to anything, even abduction, to get his way.”

  “All the more reason to keep Margaret supervised,” Aunt Grace said. “In August, of course, I’ll be taking her to St. Bartholomew’s, and there she’ll certainly be safe.”

  “Until then, or at least until you know that Sebastian has left Eastgate, I recommend keeping Margaret by your side at all times,” Mr. Bradford said. “To protect both her and her reputation. I’ve already heard talk.”

  “We cannot have that,” Aunt Grace agreed, and Meg had a terrible insight. If the talk continued, if Meg developed some sort of reputation, then Clark would be forbidden to see her. Not only would she lose Nick, but she would lose her only real friend in the world.

  “You’re wrong about him,” she said. “Nicky
would never do anything like that.”

  Aunt Grace shook her head. “My only hope is the detective’s report will prove to Margaret once and for all how despicable the man is.”

  “My point exactly,” Mr. Bradford said. “What is to prevent a man like that from breaking into this house this very minute, seizing Margaret, and running off with her?”

  “What do you suggest?” Aunt Grace asked.

  “It saddens me to say it,” Mr. Bradford said. “But for her own good, I think Margaret should return to her room, and stay there in its safe confines, at least until she sees the error of her ways. Once Sebastian realizes he can’t have his way with her, I’m sure he’ll need little convincing to leave.”

  “No,” Meg said. “Not back to my room. Can’t I at least stay downstairs for the rest of today?”

  “It’s for your own good,” Mr. Bradford declared.

  Meg wanted to shout at him, to tell him to go away and leave her alone, but she knew the dangers if she made a scene. “Just for today,” she whispered.

  “It is to protect you,” Aunt Grace said. “Both from Sebastian, and from your own baser instincts. Go upstairs at once, Margaret.”

  “I hate being locked in,” Meg said.

  “I know you think it’s punishment,” Aunt Grace said. “But it’s not. Take your needlepoint with you. You can keep yourself just as busy there as down here.”

  Ordinarily, Meg was thrilled to be excused from Aunt Grace’s company, but it felt so sweet to be with people again, even Grace, that she hated the thought of leaving. “May Clark come with me?” she asked.

  “No,” his father said. “Margaret, you must realize that while there’s a cloud over your head, anybody associated with you suffers the same risk.”

  “You don’t think Nicky is going to kidnap him?” Meg asked.

  “I meant the loss of reputation,” Mr. Bradford replied. “Really, Grace, what has gotten into the girl?”

  “I’m sorry,” Meg said. She got up and started to leave. Clark and his father both stood up, and Clark began walking out with her.

  “I’m just seeing her to the stairs, Father,” Clark said, and Meg knew what an act of courage those words were for Clark and felt grateful to him once again.