That Forgetful Shore by Trudy Morgan-Cole Read Free Book Online Page B

bearable if she and Trif could face this together, but in the absence of her Posy she forges a sort of friendship with Alice and some of her townie friends. It makes Nancy more poisonous than ever, to see Kit walking to and from class with the St. John’s girls who have been at Spencer since they were learning their alphabet. But even if few of the girls have the qualities Kit would like to see in a true friend, sitting or walking with them is like having a bodyguard – no-one dares touch her when she’s in their midst.
    Still, it’s only when lost in a book or onstage, playing Petruchio, that she loses all self-consciousness and really loves college life. It can’t be denied that the rivalry between herself and Nancy adds fire to Kate’s and Petruchio’s scenes: they are able to snap at each other with genuine dislike, though their eventual reconciliation and romance is less convincing. But on the night of the performance they come out together to take their bow and clasp hands as if they really were lovers, united for that one moment in the glory of performance.
    It’s a pity , Kit writes to Triffie the next day, that going on stage is considered neither a Respectable, nor a Practical Occupation for a young woman. For if I had my wishes, I think that is exactly the career I should Pursue! What would my mother make of that, do you think?

Triffie
    THREE OF THEM go off to school in the mornings now. Ruth leads the way, her plaits so tight they almost stick straight out from her head, her pinafore always clean and starched. Will slouches along behind until he catches up to Isaac French or another of his friends; he seems more reconciled to school this year and rarely sleepwalks, though it’s clear he’ll never make a scholar. A little behind them walks Trif. Miss Bradbury, they call her once they are all inside the schoolroom, even her cousins. Back in the spring when she first started helping at the school she was in Parsons’ Mercantile one day when she heard Annie Barbour say to her sister Clara, “Do I got to call Triffie Miss Bradbury now she’s a teacher?”
    â€œThat one! She put on enough airs before she was a teacher; she won’t be fit to live with now,” Clara replied. “Too good to walk on the same ground with the rest of us.” Trif was standing only a few feet away, the other side of a stack of barrels, and the Mercantile isn’t a big shop. Clara knew she was there, meant for her to hear. Clara never liked Trif and Kit in their schooldays, but her insult has no sting for Trif. All she hears out of that is “now she’s a teacher.” She walks to the school each morning like a prisoner on the day of her release, leaving behind laundry and scrubbing, garden and house, Aunt Rachel and Betty.
    In the schoolroom a different kind of chaos waits to be made into order. Boys and girls tumble through the doors, stumble over each other. Small quarrels flare and die down as children hang up their jackets and press onto the benches. Trif moves among them with authority, silencing them, straightening away books and boots to make the aisles and desktops clear. Then she sits on a chair by the stove, which is already throwing out a nice bit of warmth since Joe Bishop got here early to build it up. He takes his place behind the desk at the front of the room and the children, magically transformed from a pack of wild puppies to erect, dignified schoolchildren, rise to sing “God Save the King.”
    Mr. Bishop has a fine voice for leading the anthem, and Triffie joins in with enthusiasm. She remembers the day when she was ten years old, when Queen Victoria died and they had to switch from singing “Save the Queen” to “Save the King.” Mr. Bishop said he had been born in the reign of Victoria and so had his father; they had never known anything but “God Save the Queen” and it truly was the end of an era. The next day