Page 31 of The Headmistress

“I’m a teacher, Sam, I taught for ten years before taking up administration exclusively as a full-time job later in my career. Truth be told, during those years, I enjoyed teaching much more than the administrative side of my job, but eventually, the pressure of management became too much and I had to give up teaching to serve as Headmistress. I’ve been around children my entire life. Some of their more dubious pursuits—such as comics—were bound to rub off on me. And I had to keep up, couldn’t let some snot-nosed rascal outwit me. Plus, as you said, the hot points.”

Sam beckoned and Magdalene finally relented, stopped her pacing, and sat down on the bed beside her.

“I think there’s more to it than keeping pace with snot-nosed rascals.” Sam looked at her lap where Magdalene’s hand had taken her own, their fingers intertwined.

“I’ve had kids who were utterly uninterested in real life, having been abused and abandoned or simply neglected to the point where reality meant very little to them. Imaginary worlds gave them back their will to live and allowed them to thrive. Comic books have been telling stories of strength and heroism and redemption for years. Sure, female representation has only come up to snuff recently, but overall, it clamors for children’s attention just as much as any other literary medium.”

She spoke in that slightly aloof tone that gave away nothing, not an ounce of genuine emotion, but her fingers trembled slightly in Sam’s grip, and Sam wondered what kinds of things Magdalene had seen and if she would ever tell her more. The conversation also made her think of the book she herself carried everywhere she went.

“You have the most peculiar expression right now.” At Magdalene’s words, Sam raised her head from staring at their intertwined fingers to find the other woman watching her with curiosity.

“During my junior year in college, and after getting pretty tired of waitressing those previous years, I answered a call for volunteers at the Boston Public Library. A private collector had donated over a thousand extremely valuable, but old and damaged books. Since the work was extremely painstaking, the library was trying to find patient students who would help with the restoration in exchange for class credits and some money.”

She reluctantly stood up—pleased when Magdalene’s fingers tightened on hers before letting go—and pulled the slim tome she always carried with her from the messenger bag.

“I ended up restoring just one book during that whole summer. An 1864 first edition of the Scottish folk tale ‘The Light Princess’. Do you know the story?” At Magdalene’s slow shake of her head, Sam offered her the book she was holding.

“Yeah, that’s okay, it’s not that well known. My point was, it’s about forty pages long in the original edition, and all those pages were pretty much glued together by time and neglect. No actual chemical, just lack of basic proper care, you know. And it was old. It took me months to separate each page from the other. It was terribly fussy work, but I got to read half a page a day, or thereabouts, and it was such a beautiful tale. I ended up buying this much newer copy since obviously, I could never afford the antique one.”

Sam blinked, aware that she had meandered too far from her point. But Magdalene continued to look at her, with patience and a touch of warmth in her eyes.

“You’re the book,” Sam blurted artlessly, and the warmth turned to mirth with Magdalene, accepting the book with a smile.

“So I am old, difficult or impossible to read, and you’re a brave and tired conservator slogging away daily at my glued-together pages?”

Sam shook her head, but she could tell Magdalene was teasing her.

“I had a point in there, somewhere. I guess it was that I was privileged to read that book, and I’m privileged to sit here with you and find out little nuggets about who you are.”

The mirth was gone from the bi-colored eyes that suddenly held a deep sadness in them. Placing the book on the bedside table, Magdalene rose from the bed, and Sam felt her absence as if she was missing a limb.

“Do not romanticize me, Sam. That has never, ever served anyone in my life well. Just ask Timothy. He certainly feels like I never gave him any part of who I am.”

“I’d rather not ask anyone. I’d prefer to find out for myself. And whatever he feels, I have received more from you in this short time than I ever expected to.”

“Such fervor.” Magdalene moved further away, putting more distance between them, and Sam thought that this little glimpse into her heart, into her life, was over, and they were back to being colleagues discussing a difficult situation. Not quite strangers, but with nothing to bind them and nothing to hold them. Magdalene had closed the book for tonight.

“Fairytales aside, Sam. We have a real problem on our hands.”

“Yeah, you mentioned I’m being too obtuse to see the major clues?” Sam tried for a joke, but it didn’t land with Magdalene standing ramrod straight—in what Sam had learned was a characteristic pose—shoulders rigid and her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

“The big clue you keep missing is that I live here too. And didn’t you say that you were in for the night, already in bed for what was it? An hour before the light went out.”

“Yeah, that’s my usual bedtime, actually. If I hadn’t been listening for Lily’s return and if I’d have been more careful and watched where I was going earlier instead of, you know, daydreaming about…” Sam stopped mid-ramble and Magdalene didn’t even bother to hide her smirk. “As I was saying, my shoes being as wet as they were, I just sort of stepped into the first thing that lay by the door…”

“And thank Goddess for those Wellingtons.”

“So what you’re saying is…” Sam shook her head in disbelief, afraid to even voice what she thought Magdalene was hinting at.

“What I’m saying is, I’m not at all certain you’re the one these attacks have been aimed at.”

It dawned on Sam that she’d been completely unaware of Magdalene’s living arrangements. With Orla staying at her cottage on the fringes of the campus for twenty years, it was easy to forget that the designated Headmistress’ quarters were actually right here, in this very building. And that, unlike Orla, Magdalene was actually availing herself of them.

“It’s not that far-fetched, Sam. But since it’s clear that you seem unconvinced, humor me for a second here. What’s your relationship with David Uttley?”

Sam knew that she probably looked like a guppy, her mouth hanging open in a pretty realistic reinterpretation of the fish, but she couldn’t quite compute what was happening. How was this even remotely real life?

“You think David Uttley, the guy who keeps asking me out and helps me run the Debate Club, is my occasional marathon training partner and the one person on this staff who is not prone to histrionics, is somehow trying to… What? Hurt me? Because I refuse to date him?”

---