The Headmistress by Milena McKay
Of Legal Protections & Tailored Suit Skirts
Sam lived and breathed words. She’d read extensively—some would say excessively, if that was even a thing—her whole life, and despite being a math teacher, believed that words held inherently more power than anything else in the universe, including numbers, or looks, or scents… So how was it that, without a single word, the woman across from her at the bar had captivated her beyond reason?
Not a total stranger to women—she did have that one girlfriend in post-grad, dammit—and not exactly sheltered after a life in an all-girls school and then in one of the best colleges in New England, Sam did not consider herself either a hermit or a nun, yet here she was, mouth dry, hands clammy, tongue-tied without a single word being uttered.
Was it the graceful line of neck, exposed by the generously unbuttoned blouse? Sam wondered if the woman had unbuttoned it before stepping into the bar as a signal of her intentions, or was it simply the end of a long workday and it was a concession to tiredness? Either way, the line drew Sam’s eyes with a steady, undeterrable magnetic force. In her mind’s eye, Sam saw her own fingertip trace it from below the ear to where the cotton of the shirt obscured its transcendence to the shoulder. Would the woman blush? Would goosebumps chase Sam’s finger? Would the skin be warm already? Or would it heat at her touch? So many questions. Sam’s scientist mind was spinning already. Or was it simply this woman, who hadn’t said anything, yet had captivated Sam more than any other in a very long time?
Silences weren’t a thing Sam found attractive. They were usually heavy and charged, and yet the fact that this woman hadn’t needed to utter a word to make the rest of the bar simply fade away, was a new and fascinating experience. Her looking at Sam with a curious and at the same time knowing gaze had Sam shivering in the warmth of the room. Maybe Sam was a new convert to the miracle of silence, because for the first time in her life she had no desire to fill it with anything. Silence was enough, and under the twinkling of the wondrous eyes, Sam felt enough herself.
* * *
The next week proved to be taxing beyond anything Sam had ever endured at work, and she wished for some of that silence, if only to catch her breath and to steady herself. She needed to clear her mind, and so she did the one of the things that still brought her clarity - she went for a run.
Mentally, she was doubly exhausted. On one hand, Joel’s pronouncements had hit just a little close to home for Sam. Despite Magdalene’s assurances, and in spite of her own set of quite impressive accomplishments for her age and her humble beginnings, Sam had never been more aware of being gay in a workplace than right now. Her closet had been rather firmly shut for years, with Joanne the only person aware of its existence, but with Magdalene on the island and having both hands-on experience and first-hand knowledge—she cracked herself up with those idiotic puns at times—about who Sam was, the safe, if not always comfortable closet, was less and less secure.
Sure, the Supreme Court’s decision a year prior stated that an employer that discriminates against someone simply because they are gay or transgender breaks the law, and she felt safe in her position, but Sam’s heart was still heavy. It was a unique experience for her.
During Orla’s tenure, Sam had felt comfortable enough. In fact, she often thought that coming out would have probably been a good idea, since she felt so secure. But for a myriad of reasons she never had. She tried once, at their evening brainstorming teas at Orla’s, but every time she’d open her mouth, the words would not come out. The pun and the irony.
So she never did open up her closet to Orla or to anyone else on the island bar Joanne, but if she was completely honest with herself, the reason for that was her refusal to be othered. Because no matter where she went, she had always been seen as different. First, as the only orphan attending Dragons, then as—to her knowledge—the only teen at school who did not dream of boys. If there were other gay students—and statistically there should have been—Sam never knew of them, and Dragons, led by Reverend Sanderson and his fire-and-brimstone speeches against all things sinful, did not encourage the queer girls to come out.
Years went by, and it wasn’t like her prospects of finding anyone on an island as small and as conservative as Dragons were actually real, and so Sam had kept her secret. Until now.
To be suddenly thrown into so much uncertainty by the man she had a rather bloody history with, made her angry and grated beyond belief. Joel’s intention to return the school back to the 19th century was frightening.
So when she’d been officially informed of her re-hiring and signed the new contract, she hadn’t expected it to be an experience akin to putting on a bulletproof vest, but she certainly felt that way. Bulletproof. Protected. After a couple of tough days, the anxiety subsided. Which made her even angrier. The trustees, and Magdalene too, of all people, were set to destroy a safe space. A space where people like her, like Amanda, like Lily, like Suzie—whether silent and closeted or loud and proud—had found a home, a refuge from the world that was, by and large, still unkind if not downright cruel to people like them.
On the other hand, Magdalene’s proximity, which had been so easy in the darkness of the bar, was throwing Sam off her game, making her feel discombobulated and in a state of constant awareness that had none of the fateful night’s ease.
The Headmistress had indicated that Sam’s interview itself was only pro forma, and all things considered, it went smoothly and quickly. But even with the ink dry on the contract, Sam still felt like she had gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champion in the ring.
For that was what Magdalene seemed like. After years of working with Orla in a friendly, relaxed, and dare she say less-than-professional atmosphere, filled with cupcakes and muffins and parties, Sam felt completely run over by the efficient and utterly effective machine that was Magdalene Nox. No nonsense, on time, and highly organized, in those four-inch heels and that tightly tailored skirt suit, she was the epitome of attractive, deadly professionalism.
The outfits did decidedly marvelous, if slightly dirty, things to Sam’s psyche. They were distracting; they were maddening; they were wonderful. The way the downright respectable, knee-length skirt would hug those hips and ride up just an inch when Magdalene sat down… Sam drank a lot more water than usual these days, as her throat was perpetually parched. She knew she was being the utter embodiment of a lovesick puppy, lusting after her very professional and aloof boss, but she had no idea how to stop it.
It also became clear very soon that Sam wasn’t the only one with a less-than-well-hidden admiration for their new Headmistress. Timothy Nox and Joel Tullinger had both stayed behind under the pretense of helping her organize the school’s affairs and setting her up for success. Sam felt that Magdalene herself resented the intrusion. She was more than capable of conducting the interviews and the audit of the files and books by herself, and yet she was forced to contend with the presence of two people who were entirely overbearing and—especially in Joel’s case—downright condescending.
Still, Magdalene did not allow either Timothy or Joel to steal her show. She ruled with a steady hand, and after having aced her own interview and being officially made a member of the transition committee—along with the two trustees and George—Sam had the unique opportunity to observe how, despite keeping her cards very close to her chest, the Headmistress was making the job all her own.
Joel had tried to insert himself repeatedly in either the interviews or the oversight of the audit, but had been gently yet firmly put in his place. Timothy’s role was less clear to Sam, as the man was mostly absent from the actual duties he was supposed to be performing, either on the phone or hiding away in the quarters assigned to him in the dormitories. One time he even brought a book to the office. David, whose interview he was crashing in such a manner, had goggled at the sheer audacity. So, to say that Timothy didn’t appear to be at all interested in the school’s affairs was an understatement. His level of interest in Magdalene, however, was another story altogether. He was effusive in his attentions and his compliments and his not-so-subtle touches. Which grated on Sam so much, she couldn’t find it in herself to even attempt to reason the anger away.
But while Timothy’s commitment to the school’s causes was clearly faked or tenuous at best, Sam could not find fault with his intelligence or ingenuity. Even being thoroughly distracted by his phone, or his book, or his ex-wife, as well as a myriad of other things, Timothy Nox was brilliant when called upon. His knowledge of accounting and finances shone brightly when the school’s dire straits in terms of funding were fully exposed. He was helpful, he was insightful and he had very good ideas.
And he did all these things while looking like an expensive fashion model, fresh off the runway. His clothes immaculate, his watch opulent and cufflinks always on point, Sam felt downright drab in comparison, and if not for an unexpected ally, she’d have perhaps had a more difficult time dealing with this veritable prince among men.
Since George had started at Dragons, she and Sam had become if not exactly close, then definitely situationally friendly. Not only were they the only ones on the transition committee not dressed in thousand-dollar outfits, but she and the secretary seemed to share a decidedly irreverent attitude towards both Joel and Timothy and had developed a way of discretely rolling their eyes towards each other when either of the men fawned over Magdalene too overtly.
And Timothy did fawn. In fact, he was pretty brazen about it. And while his excessive platitudes were unpleasant, it was his flirting that drove Sam to distraction.
George joked about how Timothy could use a bib to save all those crisp, starched Hugo Boss shirts from all the drooling he did over Magdalene, but Sam did not find those jokes even remotely funny. In fact, the secretary’s cracks about Timothy had just enough bite to veer into disrespectful, if not downright ‘I hate this man’s guts’ territory. After all, George seemed like a very loyal friend to the Headmistress and was clearly on her side when it came to her ex-husband.
Moreover, Sam suspected that Magdalene herself wasn’t having much fun either. She bore the effusive attention and overt displays of affection with dignity, but Sam could tell by that barely-there twitch of her nose and the narrowing of her expressive eyes, that she was not pleased with either the presence of her ex-husband on the grounds or with his demonstrative overtures.
Sam was also beginning to understand that trying to read Magdalene was every bit as difficult as she thought it would be. For all of Sam’s literary knowledge, she still couldn’t find an apt metaphor for her. A closed book she was not, because she wasn’t entirely standoffish or abrupt, always available to a colleague or a student. So the book was rather open, but the pages were entirely blank, and at no time could Sam tell what she was really thinking—despite the occasional cute nose twitch.
Cute? Her exhausting run over, Sam raised the midriff of her hoodie to wipe the sweat from her face, shook her head at herself, and sat down on a patch of grass on the Amber Dragon Cliff, her usual nightly place to unwind and simply get away from the world.
But as she made herself comfortable, she discovered she wasn’t alone in her hiding place. A few feet away, closer to the edge, a familiar figure stood in the shadows, under the pine trees. Her posture ramrod straight, Magdalene looked like the brooding hero of a gothic romance, in a black dress, her shoulders covered by a light flowing shawl, protecting her from the evening breeze. Her face was shadowed, but Sam sensed that, despite the tense set of her arms around her body, her features were peaceful.
She could understand that. Dragon Cliffs accomplished what no other place on Earth could. They brought solace and ease to Sam, no matter how dire the circumstances were. They’d certainly calmed and eased the mind of a rebellious and misfit teenager for years. They had been home when no other home existed.
In her musings, she must’ve made a sound, for Magdalene turned suddenly, her gaze sharp and defensive, before relaxing a bit at the sight of Sam, who felt an entire herd of butterflies in her stomach at such an overt display of acceptance. After a full week of not being able to tell where she stood with her, it was akin to a kiss to realize that, despite everything that had happened between them, Magdalene was in fact comfortable around her.
“You’ve found my little hidey-hole, Professor Threadneedle.”
It was still a bit of a rush how seamlessly Magdalene had gone from calling her Ms. Threadneedle to Professor, always underscoring her now fully affirmed position at the school. It also set a heavy boundary between them, for the Headmistress had never called Sam by her first name. But the title also allayed all of Sam’s lingering fears and doubts about who she was and how secure her position was. She wondered if Magdalene was intuitive enough to have sensed Sam’s worry earlier, when she'd felt like she may no longer be safe at Dragons. She wouldn’t put it past this woman who, while still an enigma, seemed to have everyone else figured out.
She hadn’t asked Sam anything and they had not exchanged a word beyond their school duties, but for some reason—be it the mutual assured destruction principle, or just foolhardy faith—Sam felt that Magdalene would not out her. Also, the knowledge that Sam was privy to something exceedingly personal to the enigmatic woman, something that nobody else seemed to have any inkling about—such as Magdalene’s own sexuality—was reassuring to Sam. She’d never use it against the Headmistress, but it felt like having this shared secret was akin to holding a small fragile bird to one’s chest. One needed to be gentle and oh-so-careful with it, but it was wondrous and beautiful and worth all the trouble in the world.
Sam’s breath caught in her throat as Magdalene stepped even closer to the jagged edge of the cliff and then, just as abruptly, turned her back to the foaming ocean beneath.
“Ah, I think we might’ve found each other’s hidey-holes? I try to come here whenever I can. And would you mind not standing so close to the edge? Dragons are ruthless, and Amber more so than the other two.”
“Is that why you choose to spend your evenings on this particular cliff? Because she’s more dangerous than the rest? I think I’m beginning to understand you’re secretly an adrenaline junkie.” The small smile playing on Magdalene’s lips warmed Sam to the core.
“Yep, adrenaline junkie - that’s me. Bungee jumping and paragliding and skydiving. All those things. Ask anyone.” Sam hid her own sarcastic smile behind the neckline of her hoodie.
“I have asked, and I don’t believe anyone described you even remotely in those terms. Dependable, steady, responsible. Those were more along the lines of what others say about you, Professor Threadneedle. Could it be that, with one exception, you have done nothing reckless in your entire life?”
Sam blushed furiously and hid her whole face in the generous folds of her three-sizes-too-big top. She was almost certain that Magdalene was alluding to their one-night stand, yet she was so embarrassed that her peers had chosen such boring and downright dowdy descriptors for her, that she wanted the cliff to swallow her whole. She was desperate to impress this woman, and the people around her seemed determined to make her look like a country bumpkin.
And the way Magdalene’s voice had lowered at ‘one exception’, made Sam’s heart speed up. The things she could do to Sam with just her tone alone were downright unfair.
“You spoke to our colleagues about me?”
This seemed to be the only safe question to ask, considering that Sam wasn’t sure she was ready to bring up their night together. The last time she did, Magdalene had simply waved it away like it was nothing, and Sam wasn’t ready to have what had been a transformative experience for herself dismissed or diminished yet again.
“I hired you, Professor, I had to check references.” Now Magdalene’s lips no longer tried to hide her smile, and it blossomed, transforming her entire face. The normally carefully neutral features were alight with pleasure and mirth.
Magdalene came closer, and despite her expensive dress made to sit down in the grass. Sam scrambled up and took off her hoodie, spreading it on the ground.
“Chivalrous to a fault.” The smile was gone, but the words held the remnants of the warmth it had been infused with moments ago.
“That dress is a work of art, it would be a shame to ruin it.”
“Dry cleaners exist even in this godforsaken place.” Now, these words were less than warm. Sam felt a certain unexplained resentment which had, in the past week, been spilled by the Headmistress on some things that pertained to the island. From the inconvenience of the ferry to the trustees who were ‘helping smooth the transition’, to the cat who still continued to roam the school despite Magdalene’s decree that ‘strange animals’ should not be allowed inside.
“Speaking of ruined things. What is your bone of contention with Tullinger? He goes out of his way to avoid you and you go out of yours to hide the utter contempt you feel for him. You don’t have the obfuscation skills to quite manage that, Professor.”
“Ah, my famed lack of a poker face.”
Magdalene’s lips quirked upwards, and Sam sighed. Apparently, unlike her, Magdalene could read Sam like a book. Was this really a surprise though? She’d done so from that fateful moment their eyes had met over the dim lighting in that Manhattan bar.
Sam looked out on the deceptively calm waters, ready to turn stormy and angry in a heartbeat, and pondered how much to reveal. Still, she was aware that most of her story had been well-documented in her student file and was—with Magdalene’s propensity for knowing everything about everyone well beforehand—probably not a secret to her.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with my history at Dragons. Well, as much of it as is reflected in documentation...” At Magdalene’s faint nod, Sam swallowed convulsively, still overwhelmed by how raw the wounds of her childhood were.
“Stanton Alden and Fredrick Tullinger were my legal guardians, with the school acting as the de facto one, considering I spent pretty much all my time here. Sometimes either one or the other of the gentlemen would invite me to their homes for holidays and such. I was thirteen when I received my last invitation to spend Christmas with the Tullingers. I socked Joel for being… I guess you can say a pretty horrible brat to me during their Christmas celebration, calling me a dirty orphan and having particularly nasty things to say about my mother and her abandoning me like the worthless human he believed I was. Alden, who was also invited to the Christmas celebration at the Tullingers’, took one look at Joel writhing in the snow, his nose broken and blood gushing everywhere, and told me to get my things.”
Sam gave Magdalene a rueful smile but was met with nothing but a stony glare, whether at her behavior or at Alden’s total lack of interest in the actual events that had preceded the altercation, Sam couldn’t tell.
“That’s okay though. I was spared any further boring gatherings over dry turkey. So no hard feelings on my part. Alden didn’t even read me the riot act, or punish me in any other way. Hell, he even left me the Christmas present that had been stashed under the massive spruce in the Tullingers’ foyer, so I guess he was not entirely disapproving of my behavior. Anyway, long story short, Joel has stayed away from me since then, and his nose has been giving him trouble from being set wrong, from what I gather. Score one for the ‘dirty orphan.’”
Not wanting to witness pity or sympathy, Sam turned away sharply, pretending once again to find the waves captivating. After taking a few calming breaths, she chanced a look at Magdalene’s face only to find it thunderous. Sam felt that she perhaps shouldn’t have been so concerned that she’d be pitied. It was clear that the Headmistress was a staunch disciplinarian and probably found her childhood antics to be less than pitiable or amusing. Or was she perhaps upset for her? Sam wanted to laugh at herself for even entertaining the notion.
“I bet you’d have expelled me for fighting, Headmistress.”
A shadow crossed Magdalene’s face, and for a second Sam thought she’d gleaned something underneath the careful veneer, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived.
“Considering the way your mere presence continues to intimidate Joel and how you still jump in feet first to defend lost causes, I believe you can’t be saved from your hooligan ways, Professor Threadneedle. And speaking of things that cannot be saved…”
She looked past Sam, gazing steadily down at the ocean, its rhythmic motion seemingly hypnotizing her. Whether or not she used the waves as Sam did earlier—to gather her thoughts or stall for time—Sam did not know.
“I am leaning towards not hiring Doctor Fenway for the position of English Chair. Her interview was a mess, and her leadership has been nothing short of lacking in the past years.”
Sam swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.
“This school is her entire life.”
Sam had no idea why she was pleading. So far nobody had managed to overrule any of Magdalene’s decisions. She had summarily dismissed both Ruth Trufault and Jen Rovington, and Sam knew the Academy had advertised their positions faster than her former colleagues had managed to vacate their quarters. For some reason, she had not expected that Orla would follow their fate. She might not have entirely succeeded as a headmistress, as Sam was starting to realize little by little every day, but she was a talented and beloved teacher. Her students adored her. Her approach to teaching was innovative and captivating. Sam had assisted with several of her classes and was left utterly enchanted by the atmosphere in the room and the methods.
“I am hard-pressed to believe that. The school is in ruins, Professor, and while a large part of that is due to the neglect that the trustees have inflicted on the Academy and the endowment, her decisions as headmistress were equally ruinous. Surely you can see that now that you’ve been privy to some of them.”
But Sam could also see the other side of the coin. She knew intimately, from all the evenings spent in consultations, brainstorming, and discussions with Orla, that she’d operated under the worst conditions for years, with little to no support from the trustees. And Sam also knew that despite all that, the school had not folded. It persevered and continued to offer home and board to those most in need.
“I think it’s easy to cast stones post-factum, Headmistress.” Sam knew her tone sounded shrill, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Ah, the aforementioned defense of lost causes and the famed loyalty. That was another quality of yours that people kept bringing up. Your loyalty. You have quite a number of commendable traits, I can attest to some of them myself.”
The previous anger returned in full force. Yes, she was fully aware that it was standard practice to check references. But Magdalene had told her repeatedly that she would be hired, only to be vetted like everyone else. Or did it upset her because she was treated like everyone else, after what the two of them had shared? Sam knew she wasn’t being fair, she knew she was being rather bratty about the whole thing, but their personal situation aside, Magdalene was systematically dismantling everything Orla and Joanne and Sam herself had built in recent years. And that hurt just as much. She’d analyzed to hell and back which pain was stronger and for what reasons.
And that last dig about knowing some of her qualities? That one was just a punch below the belt when Sam was trying to concentrate on the school and not on all the things she’d been very good at during that night in Manhattan.
“I would appreciate it if we kept this professional, Headmistress.” At Magdalene’s raised eyebrow and another subtle nod, Sam went on, “I also appreciate that you have a hard task, but surely you are making it much harder by dismissing people who are qualified pedagogues. Orla Fenway may be a bad headmistress in your eyes, but she is an esteemed teacher in the eyes of hundreds. And not only are you firing her, you are further alienating the faculty and the student body with your… decisions.”
“Well, direct and honest were mentioned as well.” Before Sam could explode into another outburst of outrage, Magdalene waved her away and her eyes lost the playful sparkle.
“Professor Threadneedle, I will do everything and anything to ensure that the school perseveres. That it survives. Too much is riding on my success. You seem to operate under some misguided conviction that I care about what the faculty or the student body think. I couldn’t care less. That is not how this school will thrive. You have all been coddled and sheltered and left to rot in slovenliness and complacency. Orla Fenway might be a stellar teacher, but she was indeed a disaster of a headmistress.”
Sam jumped to her feet and stalked away, trying to grab a better hold on her fraying temper.
“Orla Fenway has kept Dragons alive while those people you seem to bow to did nothing to help her!”
Magdalene’s cold, angular features arranged themselves into a downright malicious smile. “The trustees are a necessary evil. They rule the school and manage the endowment.”
“Well, where were they when their management was needed? When Orla was left to fend for Dragons alone?” Sam’s eyes grew wide at her own outburst, but she felt like a runaway train now, unable to stop. This seemed to have become a recurring theme where this woman was concerned. Sam simply couldn’t help herself.
“Where were they when we had to expand the northern wing to accommodate the increasing number of students? Where were they when, ten years ago, the astronomy tower on Viridescent Cliff was left to rot, abandoned for a lack of funds? Where were they when dozens of scholarship students needed books and uniforms? Those girls had to be housed and taught. The scholarships were tacitly approved by the trustees, yet unsupported by the endowment. Where were they when students like Amanda were struggling to find a place in over ten other schools? Dragons was the only institution that accepted her! And yet all the Board ever did was throw roadblocks at us every step of the way.”
“I will leave aside for now the discussion about how the scholarships even came to be since the school’s charter specifically prohibits outside sources of funding and the endowment is beggared. Dragons took way too big of a bite and is in ruins now precisely because the percentage of scholarship students highly exceeds what the endowment can comfortably support.”
“With all due respect, Headmistress, screw comfortable, these children deserve an education, and housing, and the best things we can provide for them.”
“It’s precisely this attitude that brought about the current situation, Professor Threadneedle. Expanding things when the money was tight, admitting new charity cases—”
“Children aren’t charity cases!” Sam felt like she wanted to hit her head against the side of the cliff. This woman was maddening, purposely obtuse, and lacking all empathy. “These girls are a miracle, each and every one of them.”
Sam paced away, trying to get her ragged breathing under control.
“And how can you be such a hypocrite? You speak of doing what’s best for the school, yet it seems that the actual best is solely for the trustees’ benefit! You are here to return the school to its religious roots, which might as well be like plunging it back into the 19th century. How can you do this, when you yourself have no problem engaging in… well… you know…” Sam gestured awkwardly between the two of them, trying not to blush since trying not to stammer was obviously not an option. “Yet you push all this sanctimony on us all. How do you sleep at night?”
“I sleep just fine, Professor.” Infuriatingly, Magdalene said nothing else as she rose from the now soiled hoodie, and Sam thought that was one hell of a perfect metaphor for what was happening at the school and in her life. Sam had offered Magdalene something out of the goodness of her heart, only to have it returned dirtied and ruined. But she thought that, just as her time on the transition committee had been volunteered, so was her hoodie, and at the end of the day, she had nobody to blame but herself.
“What will you do?” Sam felt her rage drain from her, leaving her slightly lightheaded.
“Whatever is required. Whatever those before me felt was too hard to do.” With those words, she turned on her completely unsuitable but thoroughly sexy heels and strolled back to the Academy. Sam did not follow.