Page 17 of The Royal Governess
5
Today was the first official day of class, and I was stiff and sore from my ride on Tesoro yesterday. Thinking that some exercise might loosen me up, I ignored the elevator and took the stairs to the third-floor nursery. Nervous excitement jittered in my stomach. My students had always given me good reviews at the end of the semester. But these two students? They might be the most critical yet. And the most important.
I’d left Lexi in the dining room, still sipping coffee––a first for her. Gregorio sat across from her. These two might be a dangerous combination. Ama had shown up for breakfast. She made me nervous, and I didn’t miss her hooded eyes shifting between Lexi and Gregorio. Although I didn't always approve of my daughter's actions, I didn't want anyone else disapproving of her. And that included the royal mother. Every time her eyes studied Lexi’s hair, she gave an audible sniff. Gregorio lowered his head, but not before I saw his sly grin.
As I gripped the leather rope along the stairs, I smiled. Right now I could be home, teaching summer school. But that wouldn’t pay nearly as well. Besides, if I were honest with myself, this governess position had its moments. Every time I remembered Marco’s comment about Brad Pitt, I smiled. For a seemingly educated and sophisticated guy, he had surprised me. Maybe this island was more remote than I had expected.
The nursery felt closed in and dusty when I entered. The torn map was still lying across one of the desks. Setting my books down, I pushed the map to one side. Then I slid my notes into the podium, along with a copy ofThe Great Gatsby. The case of books and other materials I’d sent sat in a corner, so I got busy and unpacked them. Then I hobbled over to the tall, narrow windows that were meant more for security than to offer a view. At some point maybe guns or bows had been positioned in these slits––way before the glass was added.
Still, I could see glimpses of the leafy green foliage outside. The island was unbelievably beautiful and I intended to explore more. I just hadn’t figured out how. Once I knew how to ride, Tesoro might make things easier. Lexi had turned into a sphinx when I asked her about her ride yesterday. They just “rode around,” which told me nothing.
I glanced at my watch. Not quite time to begin, and I drifted out into the hall. Back at my school, most of the teachers stood in the hall between classes. We checked with each other and shared stories. But this hall was very different from the beige tiles and green lockers of Providence High School. If only Reena and Maddie could see this. Later I might snap a picture. Both phones had mysteriously reappeared in our rooms.
Today I had time to appreciate the colorful tapestries accenting the walls along with historical paintings. The floors were burnished bright in the usual deep gold and brown. For some reason there was no rug running down the center of this hall, perhaps because children had once played here. Had Marco once ridden a tricycle over these tiles? The thought brought a warm rush.
Returning to the classroom, I opened one of the cupboards. The hinges squealed as if they had not been used for a while. The shelves were deep and seemed to hold an assortment of paintings. Maybe they rotated out to the walls. These framed works were way too large for me to wrestle out into the open.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Lexi stood in the doorway. The gentle sunlight turned her purple hair to a deep shade of maroon. My daughter was attractive. Possibly beautiful. Then she cracked her gum.
“Lose the gum, Lexi. You know it’s not allowed in class.” Dusting off my hands, I closed the cupboard. “Just getting my bearings.”
Dropping her notebook on one of the desks, she ripped off a corner of one sheet and rolled up her gum. But we didn’t have a wastebasket here and she ended up tucking it into her fringed shoulder bag. Wandering over to the window, she peered down. “Will you just look at all that land? The King must be richer than all get out.”
Behind us a throat cleared and I wheeled around.
“Good morning.” In the space of two words, Gregorio’s voice screeched from husky into another octave. So that’s how it was. Poor guy. Puberty was never kind to boys. His father’s dark unruly hair framed Gregorio’s round face. The rumpled shirt must've been made of linen. Didn’t Marco believe in permanent press fabrics? It looked as if it should be in a historical museum. His pants were more like breeches, which looked great on his father but uncomfortable on Gregorio. Shuffling forward, he slumped into a seat.
Eyes wary, Lexi took the chair at the table next to him.
Showtime. “Let's get to it. Gregorio, why don’t you tell me what you know about American literature. Or literature of any kind.”
“Um, not much.” Like his father, his English held a pleasant accent. He rambled through some modern day works, mostly adventure or sci-fi.
“Where did you find those books?” Was Marco letting Gregorio order from Amazon? And how had he gained access? I chuckled at the thought of an Amazon van making its way up the road that we’d taken from the boathouse.
Gregorio’s eyes dropped, his fingers picking at the spine of a notebook. “My father took me to London last year. They had many books in London.” His eyes flicked up to mine, asking for agreement.
“Yes, they do,” I said with a smile. “A couple of years ago, I visited London with some of the other teachers. The bookstores were amazing. Charing Cross Road was lined with them.” How nice that Marco had taken the time to introduce his son to London.
Picking up an erasable pen, I began to write on the board. “Have you read any of these?” And I mapped out some of the basic American literature. Sliding lower in her chair, Lexi sighed until I narrowed my eyes at her. Then she sat up a little straighter. Although she’d had some of these works freshman year, I wanted her to go through them again with Gregorio.
At one point, Gregorio raised one hand. “Pardon me, but what is this Puritan thing?”
Taking a deep breath, I briefly talked about the start of America and the lack of tolerance. He especially liked my stories about the women who were dunked in the river, suspected of being witches.
“Oh no.” He shook his head. “That is terrible.”
Lexi snorted. “They should have moved to another town.”
I looked at her in amazement. “Things were different back then. A woman couldn’t just pick up and move. People lived in groups for safety. For a woman to leave was unthinkable.”
To my surprise and delight, Gregorio had other questions about the early days of the country where he hoped to study. But after an explanation of Puritanism, Hawthorne and Melville, both Lexi and Gregorio looked as if they might nod off. “Why don't we go outside for a break? The fresh air will be good for our brains.”
Gregorio's eyes brightened. I’d dealt with a lot of sophomores and juniors so his quiet introspection and thoughtful questions were welcome. This time we took the elevator. As we whirred to the first floor, Gregorio said, “Lexi told me about my grandmother and the staircase. She can be, how do you say in America, ‘something else.’ But she is really a very sweet woman.”
Now, “sweet” was not a word I would apply to Her Royal Pain in the Neck. Once on the first floor, Gregorio led us to another secret door. Lexi and I exchanged a glance. The boy was proving very helpful in showing us how to navigate the twisting corridors and endless floors.
Outside, the sunlight banished my second thoughts about the summer. Summer had come to Napolitano and I breathed in the warm air. “This sure feels different than Pittsburgh.”
