“So,” said Sally. “I’ve been watching from up here. Enlighten me.”
“She says Jacques assaulted her. Kissed her, touched her. After class Friday.”
“Jacques? No way.”
“I need to talk to him. As soon as possible. Check his schedule.”
Jacques came in, slender and graceful in a suit and brilliant red silk ascot. Most of my teachers wear corduroy and denim.
“Hazel?”
“I hate to say this, Jacques, but—Louisa Wilson says you assaulted her after class on Friday.”
“Mon dieu, non!”
“I—I have to ask. Were you alone with her at all? Did anything, anything at all, happen?”
“Everyone had left,” he said. “I’d handed back the quizzes in class. She’d gotten a D again. I was sitting on my desk, going over my lesson plan for Monday.” He sighed. “She came back into the room. I didn’t even hear her until she was right in front of me.”
“And then?”
“She—she looked like she’d been crying. Pauvre petite, I thought. She asked if she could re-take the quiz. No one re-takes my quizzes, it’s just the policy. I told her not to worry, there was time to improve.”
He stopped. His eyes focused on a distant point behind me, as though he was looking through the wall of my office back to Friday’s classroom.
“And then?”
“I felt sorry for her. I touched her shoulder. Just consolation, you know? Like this,” he said, and reached out. His fingers were light and glancing. I caught a whiff of palm oil. “And I said to her, Ne t’inquiète pas.”
“And then?” My Geiger counter for trouble was ticking.
“Please, I resign.”
“Jacques—I trust you—but for the girl’s sake, and yours, I must know every detail. I’m sorry.”
He looked at me now. “She kissed my hand,” he said. “I pushed her away. She left. And that’s all. I swear.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Jacques?”
“I was ashamed. I—I thought perhaps it was my fault.”
I almost groaned. “Things happen, Jacques. But you should have told me.”
“Yes. Angelique said so. Hazel, I resign.”
“No. I want you here. But—this is difficult. Her father—her father is angry. And she, she’s a very troubled girl.”
“Please, I resign.”
“No. Now, back to class. Don’t speak of this to anyone. I’ll keep you informed.”
“I tell Angelique everything,” he said.
“No one else.”
He strode out of my office, tall and dignified.
I poured a cup of coffee. Touch the Future! Teach! my mug said. Maybe I’d have a new batch of mugs made. Teach! But don’t Touch!
“So?” asked Sally.
I told her.
“I believe him, Sally. But—I’m sorry for her, and I’m frightened. It’s a mess.”
“That poor, sad child is a mess,” said Sally. “You’re right, to believe him.”
“He should never have touched her. And he should have told me.”
“Yes. But he did. And he didn’t tell you. You can see why.” She looked at me with that asymmetrical gaze, one eye green and one blue.
“I have to call Abel now. He’s going to want a meeting of the Trustees Committee tonight. Could you check the calendar and see if the library’s available?”
“It’s not,” she said. “The P.A. has it.”
Of course, I’d forgotten about the Parents Association monthly meeting. Sally carries our calendar in her head as well as keeping it on her desk.
“My house, then,” I said. The Trustees Committee, the executive committee of the Board, six Weighty Friends as they’re called, easily fit into my living room.
I reached Abel West, Clerk of the Board, at his office at the Clear Spring Bank, the bank his great-great grandparents founded. The family estate where he lives was a station on the Underground Railway.
“Oh, Hazel,” he sighed when I’d told him. “The Committee has to meet right away.”
“My house, tonight. 7:30. Sally will call them.”
“You believe him?” he asked, one more time.
“He made a foolish mistake, not telling me. But I know my teachers, Abel. And I know my kids. I’m sorry for her, but she’s always in the middle of something and it’s never her fault.”
“I trust your judgment. We’ve been through a lot together. We’ll get through this.”
Abel’s the best Clerk of the Board I could ever hope for, and the best friend. When his wife died three years ago after her battle with cancer, I shared with him that I had been widowed, too. I told him that long ago, my young husband, my high school sweetheart, had gone off to World War II and never returned. And I told Abel’s boys that my father had died, when I was about their age. But I didn’t say I understood how Abel or his sons felt. In my experience, no one can. Even though loss and grief are universal, each experience is particular and unique. You got to walk that lonesome valley, you got to go there by yourself, as the spiritual my kids sing in chorus goes.
While Sally was calling the Trustees, I walked over to the infirmary to talk to Sidney. We’re fortunate, having a nurse and counselor in one—good for the budget and the kids. Sidney coaches the girls lacrosse team. She’s young, stocky, and strong. The kids like her though some believe she can x-ray their minds. Sidney cleans wounds and listens with the same fierce attention she displays on the field. She’s tender, though, with the needy ones. Louisa had been a frequent caller at the infirmary.
“Whew,” Sidney said after I finished, running her hands through her short, curly hair as though trying to clear her thoughts. “Starved for affection, Hazel. She doesn’t read cues. Can’t, really. In here, heartbroken, every other week.”
“My gut says—Jacques is telling the truth.”
Sidney nodded. “No way to know for sure, but I think you’re right. I can see her having a crush on him. And he and Angelique—they stand out. It can make someone lonely a little jealous.” She had an uncharacteristically wistful look.
“I know. Birds of paradise among us doves. Do we—do we have to report it?” I asked.
“I’ll run it by CPS as a hypothetical,” she said. “She’s eighteen, thank goodness.”
“How did she do in the Life Skills class?” Sidney teaches Health. Holes and Poles, the kids call it.
“Never took it,” said Sidney. “She wasn’t here sophomore year. But it wouldn’t make a difference, with this, Hazel. It’s not like swimming lessons, drown-proofing.” All my kids have to pass a swim test before they graduate.
“I shouldn’t say this, Sidney. I’m sorry for her but—I wish to god we’d never laid eyes on her. I wish her father had withdrawn her last semester, when I suspended her for the plagiarism.”
“What do you know about why she transferred here?”
“Social problems. And he needed the five-day boarding what with travel and—well, the mother. The grades were so-so. She was a gamble, but Clear Spring is all