The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(91)

“Because she resigned first.”

Zoe remembered a line from the book of poetry Mrs. Bidwell gave her. She felt the words: It is as if my tongue is broken, a subtle fire has run over my skin, I cannot see anything with my eyes, my ears, buzzing.

The headmaster stood up, looking about the near-empty office. “She loved this place, the students, the teachers, the ideals we aspired to live by.” He turned to Zoe. “But she wasn’t going to allow herself to be the reason we fail.”

Zoe didn’t know what was worse, Mrs. Bidwell being forced to resign, embroiled in scandal, or knowing she was the cause. “Can I see her?”

The headmaster rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Someday, perhaps.”

“Her husband is not going to punish the school. For that I am grateful. I’ve managed to convince him that you’re young and impressionable and that none of this was your doing, so you’re not in any trouble. The newspaper didn’t even name you.”

“Let them!” Zoe argued. “I’m not ashamed.” Yet even as she spoke, she realized that Guto would tell and soon the entire school would know. The town, eventually.

“It’s too late, she’s already left Leiston.” The headmaster looked as though a part of him was breaking inside. He shook his head. “It’s done.”

Zoe hung on, hoping that she’d heard the worst of it, that she lost her teacher, that Mrs. Bidwell had lost her job, lost whatever had transpired between them. But she would be okay, elsewhere, that she would recover from this. The damage wasn’t permanent. But the look on the headmaster’s face revealed something else.

“He’s had her committed to Broadmoor,” the headmaster said. “He is her husband, after all, and unfortunately it is fully within his legal power to do so. I’m afraid there’s nothing anyone can do. This world is not deserving of people like Mrs. Bidwell. Yet for all of us, and that means you, my dear, she went willingly.”

The words found purchase in Zoe’s mind, and she felt as though the room were spinning. She blinked and heard the hissing of a radiator.

“I’m very sorry,” the headmaster said.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“I don’t know why he doesn’t divorce her if he’s so displeased,” the headmaster said. “I believe it would be the right thing for both of them, and certainly the best thing for Mrs. Bidwell. To send someone to Broadmoor—an asylum for the criminally insane—why would anyone do such a dreadful thing? She’s not insane and she’s certainly not a common criminal.”

The headmaster noticed how pale Zoe looked. “Are you all right, my dear?”

Zoe struggled to hold back tears as she bolted from the office.



* * *



Zoe became the talk of the school.

She thought that the weeks would ease the gossip, but everywhere she went, the other students continued to stare. Some laughed. Though after seeing Guto walk around with a broken nose and two black eyes, no one dared confront her or tease her. Instead they laid siege to her heart, catapulting volleys of silence. Firing trebuchets of piercing glances that always managed to find their target even if she was seeking refuge in the garden, or in the library, or like today, holding her breath at the bottom of the swimming pool.

Zoe shivered underwater. She looked up and the blue sky looked welcoming through her watery lens. She sat on the bottom for as long as she could, thinking of Mrs. Bidwell until her heart, like her burning lungs, felt ready to burst. She pushed from the bottom, kicking until she broke the surface, gasping for air.

She was completely alone. No one else, not even the littles, cared to swim this late in the year, which was fine by Zoe, who toweled off and turned to the empty tree branch where Mrs. Bidwell used to sit and play her violin, her feet dangling a few feet above the tall grass. Zoe couldn’t remember the names of the songs her teacher used to play but hummed the melodies as she quickly got dressed. Then she climbed up and sat in her teacher’s favorite spot in the shade. Zoe took comfort in her book of poetry. On those well-worn pages, she read narratives and pastorals, elegies and villanelles, the voices of women who shared their secrets, their love, their pain, their sacrifice. All so that Zoe’s generation and those who follow might find the buried meaning through their shared codex of silence and longing, of suffering and splendor.

In the evenings, Zoe took long walks, gathering violets and wisteria, touching the velvet flowers, inhaling their perfume. Then she’d go to bed after her roommates, who had been more understanding, had settled in for the night.

“It’s okay, Z, we all have crushes,” Mildred said. “I once thought I was in love with my dentist. I had been dreading it for months, and then when I finally met him, he was younger than I imagined and so handsome. The pain was worth it just to lie there, almost in his arms. He was so close I could feel his breath. I think I might have said some embarrassing things as I was waking up from the ether. I’m not certain, but when I sat up he was blushing and my mum never let me go back.”

Lily had a different perspective. “All you have to do, Z, is lean the other way in an overly dramatic fashion. Just shag one of the older boys and let him brag about you, and all of this bollocks about Mrs. Bidwell will be forgotten.”

Zoe appreciated their honesty but was unconvinced that replacing one scandal with a lesser one was an effective solution. Besides, she’d gained a reputation, but Mrs. Bidwell had lost her job and quite possibly her entire career. Without being able to financially sustain herself, the possibility of leaving her husband was now nil.