Outrun the Moon(38)

“Does it now, Miss Du Lac?” Mrs. Mitchell repeats, this time with more bite.

Finally, Elodie shakes her head.

“I suggest you keep your tatties in the oven and sit down.”

Elodie falls back into her seat. I wonder if she will kill me in my sleep.

The door opens and in strides Headmistress Crouch, holding a shawl. “Excuse me, Mrs. Mitchell. One of our students is missing her shawl. Miss Quinley?” She looks directly at Katie, who blanches and glances at the door, as if weighing whether she should make a run for it.

“Our groundskeeper saw two girls exiting the garden late last night from his second-story window.”

An uneasy feeling slips through me, quiet as a fin moving through water.

“When he went to investigate, he found this shawl with your name on it. Did you or did you not leave the property?”

No trace of Katie’s fire remains. “Yes, ma’am.”

The footsteps behind me last night. She must have followed.

“I thought we had learned our lesson after what happened last year.” Headmistress Crouch brings the shawl to Katie and drops it into her lap. “You are my charge, and I cannot have you cavorting about in the streets. It is unseemly, and a flagrant show of disrespect.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

In a stark tone to match her dress, the headmistress says, “Now, if you will tell me who your partner in crime was, you may split the punishment with her.”

Katie’s fingers pull nervously at her shawl, and I swear her eyes stray to me for a split second. She shakes her head.

“Are you sure?”

Katie nods.

“Four lashes, then.”

A whipping? Headmistress Crouch said she did not believe in sparing the rod. But, in front of everyone? Somewhere in the churning recesses of my being, I know that number is meant for me.

Katie meekly rises from her chair and goes to stand behind it. She flips up the back of her skirt, exposing her pantaloons, then leans over the chair back. The guilt wraps me in a scratchy blanket.

Harry, Ruby, and Minnie Mae are frozen in place, watching as Headmistress Crouch unsheathes her ruler. Francesca sits with her hands clasped under her chin, as if praying. Mary Stanford’s leg jiggles, making her skirts swish, and her neighbor is chewing on her lip. The only one who looks unruffled is Elodie, who continues to pull her embroidery thread without missing a beat.

Katie covers her face with her hands as the ruler is pulled back, and—

“Wait!” I cry. “It was me. I needed a walk to clear my head. Katie was just trying to stop me.”

Headmistress Crouch’s mouth twitches. “Is there something wrong with your head?”

“No. I mean, not usually, ma’am.”

“Good. I would hate to think we have allowed a rabble-rouser into our institution. Assume the position.”

“The . . . position?” I croak.

“Miss Quinley has already demonstrated. In light of the circumstances, you shall take the full four lashes yourself, Miss Wong.”

Katie scurries back to her seat.

“But, such things are not done in China—”

Headmistress Crouch’s face goes absolutely still, and she seethes, “You will assume the position and let me do my Christian duty before I have you thrown out!”

Whack! The ruler cuts across my backside, so sharp it feels like it reaches bone. I cry out and tears prick my eyes. Jesus, Mary, and whoever else is listening!

Whack! Put your tongue to the roof of your mouth, girl, and don’t cry, whatever you do.

Whack! This one is so hard, I feel the ruler break on impact, and a piece of wood goes clattering to the ground.

The headmistress stares at the jagged tip of her ruler, then her eyes sharpen. “If you cannot behave like a St. Clare’s girl, you shall not be given the privileges of one. As I am unable to carry out the full sentence, you will sleep in the attic for the next week. Judging by last night, you and Miss Du Lac could use a respite from each other.” Elodie’s lips flex into a beatific smile.

A chorus of gasps erupt from all around.

The hairs on my arms lift. “The attic?”

I push myself up, head spinning and hull as topsy-turvy as a ship in a storm. My humiliation robs me of all poise, and I cannot bear to look at the others. Maybe Ba was right, and I should have stayed in Chinatown.

“Now, Father Goodwin awaits your confession in the chapel. Carry on, Mrs. Mitchell.”

Headmistress Crouch steers me by the elbow toward the door, and I am thankful for the small mercy of not having to sit through the rest of class with a fire burning on my face.





16



WE MARCH IN SILENCE TO THE CHAPEL through the garden.

Headmistress Crouch stops at the stone entryway. “I was told that you would not be difficult, that you are desirous of advancing yourself in American society. Yet, already you have given me much opportunity to question you.” She points her broken ruler at me. “First, that farce of a tea ceremony. I have seen how the Chinese take their tea, and it is not by brushing away ghosts, or drinking charred skin.”

My chest begins to cave like a catcher’s mitt. I was reckless, and she smells a rat.

“And now this. Posture, Miss Wong.”

I snap to attention.

“I do not know what game you are playing, but I am watching you very carefully. I have sent correspondence to verify your attendance at this Gwok Jai Hok Haau American School, and I cannot wait to hear back from them.”