The Headmistress by Milena McKay
Of Prescient Teens & Belated Understandings
The following morning, after making sure Lily had breakfast in her room, Sam joined the other faculty members in the Mess Hall. Throughout the summer months, only a skeleton crew remained at the Academy to continue to provide meals and necessities to the teachers and students who boarded over the hiatus.
Joanne and Orla sat close together, whispering to each other at one end of the massive table, with Magdalene and Timothy eating in silence at the other. George sat right in the middle of the two groups, eyeing each faction with her customary mischievous smile. Sam was grateful when she beckoned her noisily, thus sparing her the rather nerve-racking decision of which side to sit with—the one she really wanted to, but was most certainly not welcomed into, or the one loyalty dictated she should join.
“How is that little darling doing this morning?” George slurped on what looked like cocoa.
“Lily’s fine. We’re waiting for Dr. Franz to bring up the crutches, and she’ll be more independent in moving around, but she had a quiet night. The pain medication has helped, and she is mostly just embarrassed by all the attention at this point.”
“Clumsy of her for sure, but she’s a sweet girl.”
Not wanting to start rumors or to unnecessarily worry George, Sam did not want to bring up what Magdalene had mentioned the night before, how there should not have been any water on the tiles, and how all the lights in the hallway were suddenly not working. She’d spent half the night twisting and turning in her bed, between decidedly not thinking about somebody wanting to potentially hurt her and Magdalene’s fingertips on her face, on her mouth... Or about how Magdalene had called her beautiful. Or how Magdalene found her alluring. Overall, Sam had been trying not to think about so many things.
Timothy’s loud, slightly over-the-top laughter made her flinch, so caught up in her thoughts Sam was, and George shook her head before muttering something under her breath.
“I’m sorry?” Not that Sam was particularly keen to hear what George had to say, especially on the subject of Magdalene’s ex-husband, but the secretary looked disgruntled, and Sam felt compelled to offer a shoulder.
“I said Timothy has certainly made himself at home here. Comes and goes as he pleases and seems to think he’s welcome at all times. Magdalene should stop encouraging him. She might’ve finally forgiven him, although I sure hope she hasn’t. But I guess one cannot command one’s heart.”
George’s tone had taken on a sneering edge, and the look she sent Timothy was full of disdain.
“Forgiven?” Sam’s chest constricted painfully. Why did she keep asking questions she really didn’t want to hear the answers to?
“Maggie caught him cheating years ago. That was how their divorce came about, you know. I mean, they were the most beautiful couple, so well-suited. Perfect in every way. Until she unexpectedly canceled a trip and found Timothy in their own bed with some cheap floozy. Maggie filed for divorce almost on the spot. That was a really rough time for the poor darling. She stayed with me afterward for quite a bit. He really did a number on her, and she needed space to retreat and regroup. I was just so happy to be able to provide that.”
Sam knew George had been Magdalene’s secretary for over twenty years and thought she must be the only person alive to get away with calling her by that moniker. Thinking about how the nickname absolutely did not suit the commanding, elegant woman in front of her, calmly sipping her coffee, leaving crimson marks on pristine white china, was preferable to considering the deeper implications of George’s words. Was Magdalene really reconciling with her ex-husband? And why did it matter? Sam had no rights to the Headmistress. One night meant nothing. She had more important issues to deal with. Still, Sam tasted bile at the very thought of Magdalene and Timothy getting back together and tried to push it away.
Sam didn’t want to think about all the information that had been dumped on her. It felt like she was intruding, and she really shouldn’t have asked anything at all. She was looking in on something deeply personal and overwhelmingly private. Surely George did not just go around sharing this kind of information with anyone. But the older woman seemed absolutely enraged that Magdalene, after having been betrayed the way she was, continued to give the time of day to her ex-husband.
“Timothy has not stopped courting her and begging for forgiveness since.” George took another slurp of her cocoa, then pushed her mug away in disgust. “He’s been here under the guise of ensuring that Magdalene has the freedom and authority to make cuts and changes, some of them much needed.” She nodded pointedly at the end of the table where Orla now sat alone, Joanne having departed in the meantime.
“And this stays between us, Sam, my darling, but it seems that Timothy has just used the time to try and woo her—or whatever it is he’s ultimately after. I guess Maggie is much more susceptible than I believed. That man doesn’t deserve all the love and devotion she has for him.”
Sam felt decidedly dirty when she stole another glance at the couple laughing together at the opposite end of the table. But even though Magdalene looked serene, she still sat rather stiffly by Timothy’s side, while he was all but leaning into her personal space. Perhaps, by virtue of having known Magdalene longer, George saw things that Sam could not. But it didn’t look idyllic by any stretch of the imagination to Sam. If anything, it looked uncomfortable.
And the way George had spoken in the present tense made Sam’s heart clench painfully. Did Magdalene still love her husband? Had she forgiven him? What did George know that Sam didn’t? Was George simply more objective in her assessment, whereas Sam saw what she wanted to since she was so infatuated herself?
Head spinning from all the possible and impossible scenarios, from the gentle touches of long graceful fingers to her face the night before and George’s assertion that a reconciliation was in the cards, Sam felt like the centuries-old stone walls were closing in on her. She needed air.
Sam excused herself under the guise of wanting to check up on something and took the long way around campus to gather her roving thoughts. She walked by the construction site that marked the restoration of the dilapidated chapel which had fallen into ruins in the past twenty or so years, since the last chaplain passed away and the school—under Orla’s stewardship—had veered towards more of a secular approach to the education provided at Dragons.
With her mind spinning with jealousy and resentment, especially after Magdalene had caressed her mouth and made Sam long all over again for things that surely could never be, she welcomed the distraction the restoration was bringing to her agitated mind.
It pained Sam that, out of all the projects to be considered, with dorms and study halls needing repairs, Magdalene had chosen to renovate the chapel.
Sam had no real opinion about a supreme being, and, being sort of agnostic, she did not judge people for their beliefs. Moreover, she knew of many lesbians who carried faith deep in their hearts despite various religions’ long and difficult history of rejecting the LGBTQIA community. Faith was a subject that she considered deeply individual and even private. Still, she felt it had no place here and shouldn’t be forced on an entire student body that was not religiously monolithic to begin with.
Steps behind her alerted her she was no longer alone with her thoughts.
“You look disgruntled, Professor Threadneedle.” Oh, yeah, she knew that voice without needing to turn around.
“You could say that, Headmistress.”
“Concerned about the state of construction? I have been assured repeatedly that they will be finished before the school year begins.” Magdalene finally emerged from the shadows next to her and stepped up to the fence surrounding the construction site, her fingers idly tracing the chain links.
For a second, all of Sam’s disappointment dissipated, mesmerized by the movement and grace of that hand. Memories of those fingertips moving over her own skin made her shiver before she shook them off, anger roaring back inside her at her own inability to escape this woman’s influence. She was a threat to so much of what Sam held dear, and yet here she stood, hypnotized by Magdalene’s hands and by her sheer presence. What a useless fool she was. So weak, so susceptible…
“I am concerned that, after repeatedly decrying the state of the school’s finances, uncovering the dire straits pretty much every single facility on the grounds is in, you chose to prioritize this restoration project.”
“Ah, I see.” Maddeningly, Magdalene did not follow up on what Sam thought was a totally inane statement.
“What is it exactly that you see, Headmistress? The school is mostly Protestant, somewhat Catholic, and has a very small percentage of Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist and atheist girls. And yet you are restoring a chapel that would not be accepting of all of them?”
“And it’s the chapel that is the problem in this equation, Professor Threadneedle?”
Stunned, Sam shook her head, in vain trying to clear the fog of anger and lust that had seemed to descend upon her and to better understand the question.
“My point was that you have an issue with me restoring a chapel, but you seem to have no problem whatsoever with the fact that the school is 95 percent Christian and overwhelmingly white. I am confused by your priorities.”
As arguments went, Sam thought she’d been played by a master. Yes, the school was white, almost entirely so. Sam had no role in the admissions process, but she knew that the majority of the students were from rich and affluent Massachusetts families, and only the measly number of scholarship students were more diverse in their make-up.
She bit her lip, trying to find some counterargument, as Magdalene simply looked at her, those magical eyes bright in the morning sun.
Finally, when the silence had stretched for an uncomfortable period of time, Magdalene smiled, not unkindly.
“You are a formidable individual, Professor Threadneedle. Misguided to the point of bullish stubbornness, misinformed to the point of willful ignorance, yet so staunch in your convictions. Your loyalty to these people and these stones is absolute. It’s rather endearing, despite being utterly ridiculous and absolutely undeserved.”
“I think you gave me about three different insults couched under the guise of one compliment there, Headmistress.”
“Ah, stubborn and misguided you may be, but I didn’t say you were not astute.”
Despite herself, Sam chuckled, and Magdalene joined her after a second where she seemed to simply stand in the sun basking in having made Sam laugh. Obviously, Sam was deluding herself, but she liked to think that Magdalene had wanted to bring her this moment of joy. Or to simply be with her, since she seemed to unerringly find her in the most obscure places so often these days.
And what was even more deluded, Sam thought as they walked back to the school next to each other, was that the natural loner Sam Threadneedle did not seem to mind any and all intrusion these days, as long as they came from this one woman, who was a total puzzle and continuous source of irritation, anger, and sheer unadulterated lust.
They were met by George at the stairs to the main foyer, who gave them a curious look, then launched into the multitude of tasks awaiting the Headmistress in the office. Chief among them seemed to be the continuous appeasement of the Board and the Old Dragonettes who were staging a veritable insurrection against the reform of the Houses. Rumors and news had a tendency to spread like wildfire on social media among the school alumni. Sam stifled a smile. Infatuated as she might be, some things—as antiquated as they were—she held near and dear to her heart, and she relished this particular battle.
“And you Miss Cutie Pie,” George continued, “are being searched for high and low by one handsome and obviously enamored Mr. David Uttley. Our History Chair is back from his short mainland sojourn and has been beseeching me for your whereabouts. He’s awfully handsome, that one, wouldn’t you say? And so obviously sweet on you.”
The sparkle in Magdalene’s eyes dimmed a little and Sam wanted to cheerfully throttle George. No, she did not believe David was looking for her, nor did she want to hear about his crush on her, which Sam didn’t even think was a crush, to begin with. It was some form of punishment for her and David, that with both of them being single and younger than most of the faculty, everyone and their mother was on some sort of mission to get them together. It seemed that George had gotten on the same bandwagon as Orla. And of all the times to bring up David, just as she and Magdalene had shared a wonderful moment…
A moment which was obviously over, with the Headmistress striding away quickly, without as much as a by-your-leave, and George barely keeping up behind her. Sam’s first impulse was to go after them, only to see that they were almost immediately joined by Timothy and proceeded to walk together to whatever conference call surely awaited them. Sam sighed and for the umpteenth time wondered what the hell she had gotten herself into.
* * *
She checked up on Lily shortly after, finding her in bed reading. Next to her was a pair of brand new crutches.
“The Headmistress, Hotty McHot, brought them earlier. I think she intercepted that creepy doctor on her way here. And she was looking for you, since you apparently left breakfast to come check on me? Busted, teach, so busted.”
Sam groaned and made a serious face, though she suspected her scolding had very little effect on Lily, who looked less than rueful and more impish and mischievous by the minute.
“Please don’t ever refer to her in those terms. She’s like thirty years your senior. And the Headmistress.”
“Pfft, I have eyes and so do you, teach. I see you watching her sometimes.” Sam stopped breathing for a second, and her whole body went still. But before she could object, Lily enveloped her in a massive bear hug, effectively ending any and all protests that could come from her.
“It’s okay. She’s not all bad, you know. You’re allowed to like her. Joanne told me as much.”
“Joanne?” Sam groaned and disentangled herself from Lily’s arms, sitting on the bed and covering her suddenly heated face with her hands. “Is there anyone around here who isn’t convinced I somehow have the hots for the Headmistress?”
Lily made a thoughtful face, before laughing cheekily. “Wow, way to go way too far here, Threadneedle. All I was implying was that the Headmistress is pretty decent, and you seem to think so too. That’s what Joanne said. How did you jump from ‘she’s not so bad’ to ‘having the hots’ for her?”
At Sam’s obvious distress at possibly having outed herself to the girl, Lily sat up closer to her on the bed and held out a hand, which Sam took.
“You know I appreciate you? I always knew where I stood with you. From the get-go. There were people who were nice to me but ugly behind my back, but you were always genuine. Your heart said as much, hence your face said as much. Supportive and kind to a fault. A bleeding heart through and through, Sam. Are you giving Headmistress Nox a hard time now because she’s taking too long in making the decision on the whole scholarship situation?”
Sam was startled at the emotional maturity and intelligence the seventeen-year-old possessed.
“Lily, I just worry about you.”
“Look, she’s talked to me. Sat me down, and unlike many other folks in my life, she took the time to listen. People believe I’m some tragic character, but she didn’t assume anything. She asked about my folks and if they were supportive. What my childhood looked like. She never for a second treated me like a cliche. Sure, I’ve known her for all of three weeks, and she might still can Amanda and Suz and all the others by closing the scholarship loophole at Dragons, but I feel like at least she’s not treating us any differently because we’re gay or trans.”
Sam squeezed her hand gently. “I wish there was something we all could do though, kid.”
“Yeah, sitting and waiting thoroughly sucks. I feel like one of those characters in a romance novel, that’s just there, you know, no agency or anything. Just waiting for someone to do something and bam, it’s all roses. I mean, it’s pretty boring, unless there’s a major shake-up at like 80% of the book or some other fallout like a murder, or a natural or manmade disaster!”
Lily smiled, and while said smile was infectious and seemed genuine, Sam was sure her delightful silliness was meant to lighten the mood. But Sam remained serious and unconvinced, prompting the girl to sigh and shake her head as if she was the teacher and Sam a recalcitrant student.
“The charter says what it says, teach. Scholarships aren’t a real institutionalized thing. Should they be? Heck yes! But for now, it’s all in Headmistress McHot’s hands. And I have a feeling even that is a stretch. The trustees and some of the parents have raised hell. She’s trying to walk a lot of lines here.”
“God, Lils, she shouldn’t be walking any lines when it comes to scholarships at all. Private schools have had scholarships since the beginning of time. Dragons was just always a bit weird about them, because the founders thought that if anyone can apply for scholarships it will...” Sam faltered.
Lily gave her a lopsided grin.
“It will dilute their blue blood? Expose their rich and fancy daughters to the masses of commoners? All true. I’m a legacy kid, teach. You’re forgetting that once upon a time my family had the money to pay for all of this, and the tuition here is not cheap at all. In fact, it is in the upper echelon of fees in New England. But, times, they are a-changing, as Dylan sang. And you know Amanda and I checked other schools and their fees—all of them—are out of our reach and we would not be able to stay together...”
Lily’s wise and rather too sanguine comments about her potential future were frightening to Sam.
“Kid, you and Amanda and Suzie have one year left, and with your grades and talents and skills, you will be able to apply to the best colleges in the country. You shouldn’t be seeking other high schools, you should be focusing on the now and on your talent, and maybe on getting up on those crutches and healing that leg there, missy.”
“Man, and they call it the optimism of youth. You’re not that young anymore, teach, to have these unrealistic beliefs. The world is a pretty place, and everything is rainbows and unicorns according to you. You’re making me into some kind of martyr when I refuse to be one. My life is my own. Amanda’s life is her own. So is Suzie’s.”
The girl shifted and wrapped her arms around herself tightly, before her eyes fell on the crutches that stood neatly by the bed within her reach, clearly placed there by Magdalene’s careful hands.
“Headmistress Nox has treated me and the rest of the scholarship kids pretty much like completely average students. Not once has she asked about me being trans, not when I transitioned, not how I transitioned. She wanted to know about my favorite subjects and what I planned to do after I graduate and if I was happy here. She asked about my relationship with my peers. Things an educator would ask pretty much any high-schooler. She allowed me to go on and on and on about Amanda and I think she thought I was sweet. I mean, who wouldn't think I was sweet?”
A dimpled cheeky grin was contagious and Sam smiled in return.
“We talked about our favorite books and how, a long time ago, she wanted to be an artist too, but how she didn’t quite have the talent. She also told me that she wanted to be an actress once upon a time.”
Sam’s eyes went wide at the revelations that kept coming, but Lily soldiered on.
“Headmistress Fenway turned the scholarship students into some kind of battle flag, something to protect and rally around, but we’re just kids who want to be left alone to enjoy our lives. I can’t speak for the rest of the girls, but I haven’t had a bad one so far. My parents love me, my friends treasure me, my girlfriend finds me cute and funny and adorable and you have to admit, Sam, how many people can say they have it as good as I do?”
Sam’s face colored for a completely different reason this time. Did she too, in her desire to protect and shield, make Lily feel like less? Did she diminish her individuality, when Lily herself was a wonderful bouquet of beautiful and amazing qualities? And hadn’t she oftentimes felt the same in her days as a student at Dragons, when the whole world only saw her differences, her otherness, instead of seeing the person underneath.
“Would I like to have a little bit more agency in this story of my life? Sure. Would I like to have more say in the decisions that are being made regarding my tuition? Yes. And so do all the scholarship girls. But tell me, honestly, how much agency do you have? How much agency does Professor Dorsea have? I think the only true agency holder in this whole story of ours is Headmistress McHot.” She said the last one with a barely held back grin, and Sam couldn’t help but reciprocate in kind.
“I’m sorry, Lils.”
“Isn’t much you can do, teach. Maybe settle Fenway down a bit? I mean, she’s so belligerent, I fear she’ll start a war or something with Nox.”
Sam again wondered at how perceptive the kid was, and how she saw things that others were not privy to. But Lily interrupted her thoughts before she could say something idiotic or inappropriate.
“Hey, speaking of Headmistress McHot, wanna see my latest portrait? I think it turned out pretty great, if I do say so myself.”
Lily pulled out her ever-present sketch pad and there—in a completely realistic pencil rendering—sat Magdalene with an enigmatic look on her face.
“Yeah, I was kinda nervous when she stopped by to talk to me some time ago, and she saw the sketchbook and well..., you know my place in the dorm is all taped up with my drawings. So she asked if talking while drawing would be easier for me. This is the result.”
“This is amazing, Lily.”
“We’ve already established that I am rather amazing, Sam. Of course, this would be, too.”
Sam squeezed Lily’s hand and couldn’t help but feel utterly inadequate, both due to the blessing of having this kid in her life and for the woman who looked on at her from the portrait. She bid Lily a good day, promising to return with her lunch, and as she was making her way out of the room, the girl called her back.
“Oh, and teach? If you’re still trying to convince people that you’re not carrying whatever torch for the Headmistress, I’d learn to school my features better. You ain’t got a very good poker face. In fact, you don’t have one to save your life.”
Sam blanched and Lily laughed before sobering up quickly.
“I will never tell anyone, Sam. I swear. Never. I mean, maybe take it easy on the Chucks and flannel? But I don’t think anyone noticed and your secret is safe with me.”
All Sam could do is stare and shake her head in disbelief that this was her life these days.