Chapter 34

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Reverend Waite has us standing, Bibles in hand, reading in unison from Judges, chapter

eleven, verses one through forty. Our voices fill the chapel like a dirge.

"And Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, If thou shalt without fail deliver the

children of Ammon into mine hands, Then it shall be, that whatsoever cometh forth of the

doors of my house to meet me, when I return … I will offer it up for a burnt offering."

"I had to tell her about Miss Moore," Pippa whispers low in my ear. "It was the only way

to keep us together for one last night."

At the front of the church is a stained-glass window of an angel. There's a large chip of

glass gone from the angel's eye like a gaping wound. I stare at the hole and say nothing,

mouthing along to my Bible verse, listening to words swirl around me.

"… and the Lord delivered them into his hands…"

"It's not as if she was entirely blameless, you know."

"And Jephthah came... unto his house, and behold, his daughter came out to meet him…

and she was his only child …"

"Please, Gemma. I have to see him again. Do you know what it is to lose someone

without saying goodbye?"

If I stare hard, the hole grows and the angel disappears. But if I blink, I see the angel, not

the hole, and I have to start all over again.

"… when he saw her, … he rent his clothes and said, Alas, my daughter! thou hast

brought me very low .. .for I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go back

…"

Pippa starts to plead with me again, but Mrs. Nightwing turns around to inspect us from

her pew. Pippa buries her face in her Bible and reads along with renewed fervor.

"… And she said unto her father, Let this thing be done for me: let me alone two months,

that I may go up and down upon the mountains, and bewail my virginity…"

Some of the younger girls snicker at this. It's followed by a loud chorus of shushing from

the teachers—all of them except Miss Moore, who isn't here. She's back at the school,

packing to leave.

"… And he sent her away… and she went with her companions … upon the mountains,"

Reverend Waite closes his Bible. "Thus sayeth the Lord. Let us pray."

There is a wave of shuffling and thumping as we sit and pass our Bibles down, girl to

girl, till they're stacked neatly on the ends of the pews. I pass mine to Pippa, who holds it

tight.

"Just one last night. Before I'm gone forever. That's all I'm asking."

I let go, and the Bible crashes into her lap. Freed, I go back to staring at the angel. I stare

so long and hard that the angel seems to move. It's the dark coming in, making everything

hazy. But for a moment, I could swear I see the angel's wings fluttering, the hands

tightening on the sword, the sword cleaving through the lamb quick as a scythe. I look

away, and it's gone. A trick of the light.

I don't join the others in the great hall after dinner. I hear them calling for me. I don't

answer. Instead, I'm sitting alone in the parlor with an open French book on my lap,

pretending to pay attention to conjugations and tenses that make my eyes hurt. But really,

I'm waiting for her footsteps in the hall. I'm not certain what to say, but I know I can't let

Miss Moore leave without trying to explain or apologize.

Just after dinner, she passes by in a smart traveling outfit. On her head is a broadbrimmed

hat trimmed with cabbage roses. She looks as if she could be heading to sea for

a holiday—not leaving Spence in a cloud of half-lies and shame.

I follow her to the front door.

"Miss Moore?"

She buttons a glove at the wrist, stretches her fingers into it. "Miss Doyle, what brings

you here? Aren't you missing out on valuable socializing?"

"Miss Moore" I say; my voice catching in my throat. "I'm so sorry."

She gives a wan smile. "Yes, I believe you are."

"I wish…" I stop, trying not to cry.

"I'd give you my handkerchief, but I believe you're already in possession of it."

"I'm sorry," I gasp, remembering the one she loaned me after Pippa's seizure. "Forgive

me."

"Only if you forgive yourself."

I nod. There's a knock at the door. Miss Moore doesn't wait for Brigid. She opens the

door wide, directs the driver to her trunk, and watches as he loads it onto the carriage.

"Miss Moore…"

"Hester."

"Hester," I say, feeling guilty for the luxury of her first name. "Where will you go?"

"I should like to travel for a bit, I think. Then I shall take a flat somewhere in London and

offer my services as a tutor."

The driver is ready. Miss Moore nods to him. When she turns to me, her voice is halting,

but her grip on my hands is sure.

"Gemma… should you ever need anything…" She stops, searching for words, it seems.

"What I mean to say is, you seem a breed apart from the other girls. I think perhaps your

destiny does not lie in tea dances and proper place settings. Whatever path you should

decide to follow in life, I do hope I shall continue to be a part of it, and that you shall feel

free to call on me."

A shiver travels up my arm. I am so very grateful for Miss Moore. I do not deserve her

kindness.

"Will you do that?" she asks.

"Yes." I hear myself agreeing.

Head held high, she releases my hands and sails through the door toward the carriage.

Halfway there, she calls back. "You'll have to find a way to make those still lifes

interesting."

With that, she steps into the carriage and raps twice. The horses whinny into action,

trotting toward the gate, kicking up dirt as they go. I watch the carriage getting smaller in

the distance till it turns a corner and folds quickly into the night and Miss Moore is gone.