"Los Angeles. This stop Los Angeles. For patrons continuing on south toward San Diego please be advised we will be waiting here at Union station for thirty minutes before continuing."
My ears registered the words and the slight gap between my lids, as I cracked my eyes, saw the tall thin conductor in his navy blue uniform with its shiny brass buttons. But I was not really awake. Until Spencer, an old dear friend who was practically my foster brother, reached over and playfully gave me a nudge. "You heard the man, Sam. We're here. Put some starch in your spine so we can get out of here and onto a carriage. Or do you prefer to just flop over my shoulder and be carried like a sack of laundry? It makes no difference to me. But I would think even your minimal interest in the opinions of the masses would balk at that. Last time you were here you had a hero's welcome, but the show's over and your capricious public has moved on."
My dearest friend Carly and I had toured with a comedy review of our own design for the past four years. At least two hundred different skits performed in whatever combination we chose on a night. They were written (or improvised), designed and nearly all roles played by the two of us. With production matters seen to by our chum Freddie, and chaperon duty as well as the occasional stage role played by Carly's doting brother and legal guardian, Spencer. The same gentleman who accompanied me now.
Carly and I had both passed the cusp of maidenhood in the public eye but luckily masks and greasepaint were my shields against the curious eyes of the crowd. Now Carly was overseas in Europe with her absentee father and I was trying to bravely face the next step in my life; when I had truly planned to partner with Carly in show business indefinitely. I was not much for planning but that idea was the closest thing to a life plan I had.
It had ended abruptly and completely two months ago. When Carly decided to accompany her father on the same evening she saw him for the first time in five years. I certainly believed she was intoxicated with joy that he was safe and sound, as any word from him was semiannual at best. Plus this was the first time he had shown any interest in her.
Since Spencer was, in fact, the closest thing to a father I had ever had and he was closer to a cauliflower than a paternal figure. I had absolutely no concept of what my friend was going through. I tried to hold no resentment and just move on.
Holy Wood Academy of the Arts was a small private college where I might study mummery and the bardic arts. Plus, who knows, with the close relationship of both those subjects to spiritualism, perhaps I would study that too.
My name was not as known as it had been less than a year ago, and it was now rare for me to be recognized a handful of times in a week, but our show did mean I was accepted to the school without auditioning. My letter of intent to pursue an education there was answered with an itinerary, a course syllabus, and a congratulatory letter of acceptance.
I had chosen my classes and mailed the papers back only two days over deadline, a personal best for me. Just as today we were arriving the Wednesday before classes commenced when I had been specifically asked to allow a full week to acclimatize to the environment before classes, as it was my first year.
But between my indifference and Spencer's absentmindedness I considered every day I arrived before actual commencement to be a point in my favor.
The very existence of Holy Wood amused me. A private college for women who would live the rest of their lives married to money. Who might have nothing to do but be interesting. So they would study drama, music, and performance. Plus spiritualism if they had a mind to I had heard, but that was not official.
All this so their husbands would think them entertaining and exotic. But if their marriages were slow in coming the only work they would be trained for is actresses and singers, not the most respected occupations for a lady of means.
Or possibly mediums, I supposed, if they had the gift. These were sought after by the highest echelons of society, but you wouldn't let your son or brother marry one.
Graduates might try to be tutors and governesses, but they would be far less prepared than someone who had attended a more parochial school.
Holy Wood had been founded thirty years ago on a lark by a socialite who was said to 'have more dollars than sense'. The first headmistress bought the building back in 1866. There were mutterings about evil witches and blood sacrifice going on in the house, but I'm sure they were exaggerated, if not entirely false. The first headmistress put a stop to all that and turned the building into a school for young ladies. Creating a tradition of teaching students to be dedicated both to the pursuit of learning and to the controversial ideals of empowered womanhood. In theory the students aspire not to simply be homemakers, but to be leaders of society.
I knew I agreed wholeheartedly, but must admit the idea might be before its time.
Among the ideals I loved that didn't quite jibe with the mores of the day, especially the culture of educational institutions it lurked on the fringes of; Holy Wood didn't hold to a standard curriculum and felt the girls got a far more rounded education because of it. The goal was to inspire the girls to investigate the world as they saw fit, and teach each other what they've learned.
They saw the role of the staff as guides and inspiration rather than being there to clutter our minds with dry facts. Which meant the school was unable to offer the usual selection of qualifications, and instead gave their own diploma. However, I was confident I'd find that theaters, concert halls, and opera houses, put far less stock in credentials than skills.
When we had a brief layover in San Francisco I had seen huge steam powered horseless auto-buses and smaller family sized ones with polished brass boilers. These might accommodate the pilot and the footman/stoker in the back plus perhaps four passengers, six if they were good friends or a family where some of them were children. I dearly wished I could ride on one but we only had thirty minutes before the train would have left without us. So Spencer and I just walked around the downtown area near the station to stretch our legs.
I held a lot of hope that more of the carriages would be found in L.A.. That perhaps one could be hired to transport us to Holy Wood Academy. But until then I enjoyed the beautiful California coast, until the serenity of it all put me to sleep. Where I remained until just now.
With the conductor's caterwauling and Spencer poking, prodding and demanding I wake, I had no choice but to grumpily comply. But not until after I took a swing at him with fist and booted foot.
I loved Spencer more dearly than anyone on this earth, except his sister, but I did not rise, even from napping, the jolly, happy go lucky girl I normally was.
It was not as noticeable if I woke on my own, but if I was awakened I came up swinging.
Union Station shocked me, even on first sight. It wasn't as nice as San Francisco station, but it was huge. Even from this angle and distance i was surprised. We were traveling third class, although what others interpreted as my surliness, assured us a bench seat each to ourselves so we could stretch out. But now that we were stopped and gathering to leave it really came clear how crowded third class is. I wondered again why there was no second class.
They had the term second class, like women or immigrants were second class citizens. But I knew on neither boats nor trains was there a second class. Just first and third. Plus, boats had steerage as well, which was traveling in the baggage hold.
I asked Spencer and he explained there had been second class once, but then they thought to keep third class as crowded and dirty as possible to make anyone with aspirations to be thought middle class pay first class tickets. Third class cost what second class used to but they kept what was seen as the more humbling title. I knew on inner city routes their drive to push first class on all who could possibly scrape the fare together meant free third class fares for chimney sweeps and stable boys to keep the cars as dirty and stinky as possible.
But Spencer, as an moon-eyed artist, and I, as a Puckett, weren't distressed by such things.
Our car was not unlocked until the first class passengers were off and had collected their baggage. And still Spencer and I found our way blocked by a richly dressed couple leading a porter who was overburdened and looked like he was getting sick of them stopping every few feet to face each other and argue. I spun my shawl into a fat cord and snapped it near the man like one would twist and snap a towel. "Fuck off you two! There are people trying to walk here."
"Sam!" Spencer said shocked.
"Look you obnoxious little strumpet-" The man said turning toward me and starting to raise his walking stick. I caught him on the cheek with the next blow, raising a red welt on his face.
"Put your damn hand down or the next stroke takes an eye." I commanded.
He put his hand down but turned his gaze to Spencer. "For shame Sir," He said. "How dare you? If she was my bride I would buggy whip her in the public square for an unprovoked attack on a gentleman."
"Yeah," Spencer said with a chuckle, "She'd never go for that."
The porter said, "Please Sir, I can't hold your cases any longer. If I cannot take you to a taxi presently, please do advise me and I will set these down."
"You'll do no such thing!" The chizzbladder demanded. "Do not interrupt your betters to bemoan how you are expected to do your duties, boy. Or when I settle this trollop I can see the station master about relieving you of the duties you find so odious." He hissed the last, leaning into the porter.
The young man looked ready to throw the bags down and join the fray.
I couldn't have some poor gent lose his position over something that I'd started.
"Trollop, Sir? You insult my honor!" I grabbed Spencer's umbrella from his hand and feinted the point toward the man's throat.
He jumped back tripping over his companion's skirt. Which was lucky for everyone but her.
He turned his anger to this new target, calling her clumsy and telling her how she embarrassed him and how he'd never take her beyond the borders of their home again.
However, he did turn and pulling her wrist, he got back to the business of arguing and walking I'd interrupted. Only this time without continuing to stop and block traffic.
I couldn't be too empathetic to the poor girl. She had been shrieking at him before I even engaged with her piglicker companion. And now she was shouting about everything he would have to buy her in the city if he wanted her to keep silent with Mother, who always liked her better.
This threw my assumption that they were a couple into question. But if they were and his mother supported them financially but didn't much care for him, it could still work. If it were her mother that supported them she would have no reason to mention that she was the woman's favorite.
"Sam, you have to watch your temper. The academy is going to have more rules than you're used to. You haven't been in any kind of organized education regularly since you were twelve. Sure you'd pop in at the local schoolhouse when Carly and you weren't touring, but you spent most of those days embroiling my sister in your shenanigans." Spencer said.
"Don't try to parent Spencer, you're poor at it. And you love my shenanigans." I replied.
Spencer was quiet for about fifteen seconds before saying, "Good point, well made. But I'm just trying to help."
"I have no interest in causing trouble. I chose this school because it is not known as a bastion of hard work in the educational sense. It is an art school. I will only be asked to work hard on those things I love and am willing to work on. I will be encouraged to be who I am, a sarcastic jester with a talent for mimicry and a love of the ridiculous.
Don't worry about me. I worry about you. Remembering to eat without Carly or me there to remind you. I'm worried that you will start welding a new sculpture, accidentally cage yourself within it and then somehow set the iron on fire. That's far more likely than any fear you have for me." I explained, honestly concerned.
"Fine, you worry about me and I'll worry about you. But remember Freddie still lives across the street and he isn't going to let me incinerate myself." Spencer said.
"You're right. Mrs. Benson will never let him marry and he won't challenge her for anyone less than Carly herself. So unless she returns with a changed opinion of him, I can count on his discretion, to protect you from yourself, forever."
"Oh, thanks." Spencer said sarcastically, "Lets get a cab and head out while I still have some small shreds of pride."
Spencer carried my largest trunk, though I was almost certain I was stronger than him, I allowed it because I felt his comment about his 'small shreds of pride' might have some truth to it. He also carried his own small satchel that carried his toiletries and a few clothes to get through the trip down and back. I was honestly touched that he insisted on seeing me to the school safely. I wasn't his sister and he owed me nothing but he had treated me as well as Carly all my life.
I carried my two suitcases which along with my trunk contained all my worldly possessions. Dresses, two suits of boy's clothes (as disguises or simple convenience if doing any kind of active work where pants are easier), a few weapons Carly had given me from her father's stores when we discovered, quite by accident when rehearsing a scene, that I am naturally a dab hand with martial pursuits.
I knew I tended to fight more easily than a lady should and had a natural athleticism that belied my admittedly lazy nature. But even I was shocked at how simple and logical actual structured combat came to me.
I seemed to have a low to middlin' skill with any weapon the moment I lifted it and quickly progressed if I gave it any effort at all.
This along with a few keepsakes of our travels and a quilt made by a great aunt that I liberated from my mother, was the sum and total of my worldly goods.
My one keepsake from Carly, a gold locket with a small lock of her hair bound with silk thread, was around my neck. Although if I am being completely honest I also had a down pillow that I had taken from Carly's bed that I could cuddle when I missed the first true friend I'd ever had, who was still closer to me than any sister.
But I saw no reason to make a big deal about that. Many girls had comfort objects that they named after a bosom friend when they went off to boarding school. Although I might admit usually those boarding schools were not colleges and those girls were rarely of marriageable age.
Spencer easily gained the services of a cabbie who immediately relieved me of my burden, stowed it and moved to help Spencer.
I was excited to see that not only was his rig one of the horseless steam-carriages we'd seen, but it was of a completely new and interesting model. The open passenger compartment was in the front and behind us was the boiler, the driver also worked as a stoker and worked a foot pedal that dropped a scoop worth of coal from the coal bin above the boiler into the fire using a simple gravity drop. The cabbie was about my age and said he knew the academy well. Being an actor himself, he liked to attend the school's performances and was friendly with a few of the students.
"He's quite a handsome lad." Spencer said, as we got under way.
"I suppose." I said, not really interested in the subject. "He does have lovely hair."
"It's a shame to see such hair on a male." Spencer replied, by way of agreement.
"Men can have beautiful hair." I argued, "You have quite nice hair yourself."
"I suppose, but not like his. A woman's glory is her hair and it seems wasted when a woman would get more enjoyment and it might do the right girl some good."
I grunted noncommittally and looked at the scenery passing us by.
Los Angeles was quite a large city. It wasn't as crowded and densely packed as New York, was much more like my own Seattle than say New York or Boston. But it just went on and on. Put me more in mind of an empire than a city. Though intellectually I knew a true empire would be far larger.
I heard the lad rhythmically pumping the stoker like the pedal on a sewing machine, as we bustled along at quite an impressive clip.
"We're coming up on the school now." The lad said, pointing ahead and to the left. There were quite a few trees on the grounds and dusk was gathering. The shadows of the trees made it nearly night in the area at the center where I could catch a few pieces of buildings through the growth. We were nearly upon it when I got my first good look. Well as good as could be expected at this hour. It was a huge fine old house with colonnades and several outbuildings around the home were clearly visible, so I figured there was even more farther back.
The lad pulled into the wide circular gravel drive, unloaded my belongings, and stood unobtrusively to the side waiting as Spencer and I said our goodbyes.
"Travel with me for two days only to turn around and go back alone. I want you to know I really appreciate it." I said.
"It was my pleasure to do it, Sam. It was an adventure and I got to spend two uninterrupted days in your company. Which is good because I don't know when I'll see you again. I wish providence had given me the same time with Carly before she was gone." Spencer said.
"But I'm not going to be so far away as that," I said. "And it wouldn't surprise me a bit if you were asked to show a piece or two in a Los Angeles gallery soon enough."
"If that happens I will see you soon, but in case it doesn't, I'm glad to have been able to do this. Plus even if it was guaranteed we would get together once a month I still would have come. I would worry about your safety traveling alone. You do not need to even ask me to escort you anyplace anytime, I am at your disposal. I adore your company and I'd die if you were put in a dangerous situation I could have effected if I'd been there."
I knew the only way Spencer would be of use if I needed to engage an enemy is if I chose to stab them with his umbrella like the pus-bug at the train station. But there is no way I would say something so emasculating to someone I held so dear. A man I knew from experience was a sensitive soul. So I just thanked him and, after clasping his shoulders and kissing his cheek quickly, I said goodbye.
I offered a quick thank you to the cabbie and he said that he was sure he would see me around.
I knocked on the front door of my new home as Spencer and the lad rode away.
The door was answered by a blandly pretty women of about forty, with cafe au lait skin and medium length dark hair that was quite curly. When she shook my hand, her grip had the slightly tacky moistness of a woman who loves her lotions and unguents. Her handshake was like an overcooked fish that was somehow both boiled and greasy.
She was not overall a weak looking woman in any way. Clearly she was just one of those ladies who thought it unwomanly to have a firm grip. Which I believed just reflected poorly on those individuals who thought it. There was something to be said for a woman not turning it into the strength contest some men might, but a handshake should always be firm.
"Miss Puckett, I recognize you from your performance, which I enjoyed. My name is Miss Lane. I am the school's pastoral counselor. Here at Holy Wood we feel its most suitable to have the girls address staff by first names preceded by an honorific as a sign of respect. Miss Helen, the headmistress, is unfortunately not in presently. However the founder, though no longer headmistress, still remains quite active. She is in residence at present and I know she would like to meet you, welcome you, and get you settled. She asks that we all call her Nona Maree, as she feels like a grandmother to each of her girls here.
Now come with me. I will escort you to her parlor where I will leave you to sit down a moment while I fetch Nona Maree.
Inside it was near as light as day in the foyer with gaslights in sconces along the walls and lamps on tables. It was a bit dimmer in the halls, but we passed a bright and cheery room with younger girls in uniforms playing a game I could not immediately identify. As a college Holy Wood was like half high school and half university. So the young ladies who walked the halls were from 16 to 21 and could graduate at 18 with a preparatory certificate, to enter a university or begin their lives; or 20/21 with a diploma.
We walked up a broad stairway and turned along the short end of another hall, several of the doors were shut, but the few open ones showed offices. At the end of the hall there was a much larger office, done up more as a parlor, as Miss Lane had said, than like an office.
The furniture was dark in burgundy and navy upholstery but the wood was fine and ornately carved. Miss Lane seated me on a beautiful Queen Anne chair and departed to fetch the founder.
I got up and started looking around. There were several beautiful and probably expensive paintings. Plus, I found several photographs of a woman with children and later those children with children. There was a large painting on the wall of a beautiful young woman. She bore enough of a resemblance to the older of the mothers I assumed it was her when she was nearly young enough to go hear, and furthermore I guessed, by the location, that both were of the founder I was waiting to meet. I was comparing the photo to the painting when I was joined by a stout woman with short hennaed hair. She wore a very nice navy dress with lace at the collar, of a cut that flattered her and said to me that she was no knitting grandmother.
She seemed more like the elderly English scholars I'd heard of, who decide 79 is a perfectly appropriate age to go to New Guinea and live among the Bumbi people for a year and publish scholarly articles of their experience. A look that said she still had plenty of living to do. I hoped to be the same when I reached that time.
"My dear Miss Puckett," The woman said, with what seemed like true joy. "May I call you Samatha?"
"I'd prefer Sam, Mrs. Valentine." I replied.
"And I'd prefer you call me Nona Maree, dear. Everyone does."
"You have a lovely family, ma'am." I said. I believed that was something nice people said. I was making an effort, like I'd told Spencer I would.
"Thank you dear. I started the school right after my own daughter went away to a boarding school in the East. My husband passed the year before and I needed something to fill my days.
Unfortunately neither of my own children shared my interest in performance. But they did alright for themselves. My son is an alienist and my daughter is the dye mistress of a fine New York house. So many of the new fashions each year owe their jewel-like hues to her eye.
Plus apparently such talents as my own skip a generation. My granddaughter is a student here. In fact her roommate has recently graduated and I had intended that you room with her. I've sent for her so that after we speak a moment she might show you around."
I had no interest in rooming with anyone at all. It hadn't even occurred to me that it would be expected. Now that it had been brought up it was obvious that everyone knew that was how boarding schools worked, so I couldn't argue it. But still, the entitled granddaughter of the founder? Probably would catalog my every fault and misstep to discuss with granny over precious private teas.
Sometimes I cursed that small amount of fame that Carly and my acting lark had granted me. There is no other possible reason a stranger would be roomed with such an august and important student.
"You don't need to put anyone out." I said. "Surely your granddaughter would rather room with a friend."
"Oh she's a fan of your show. (I knew it!) Besides all her friends already have roommates."
"But your own granddaughter, your baby's baby rooming with a stranger. A stranger known for her temper and violent tendencies." I said.
"Oh I see what you're doing. You're worried that you will have to always be on your best behavior. Because any shenanigans or tomfoolery will be immediately brought to me.
Firstly, my granddaughter was raised to put friendship first. As long as she doesn't honestly believe there to be significant danger, she will keep your secrets like a vault. Secondly, the reason I stepped down as headmistress is I am too playful and happy go lucky myself. I'm not going to hold a bit of youthful abandon against you. And lastly, give the girl a shot. If after the tour you choose not to room with her come back here and we will make other arrangements without hurting her feelings."
At that moment there was a small knock at the door and it opened to reveal the prettiest girl I ever saw. A bird boned little pixy with hair that in this light seemed to be the red purple of port wine.
"Here she is Sam, my granddaughter Catarina Valentine, called Cat. Cat, honey, this is Sam Puckett."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Puckell. I love your shows."
In an instant the decision was made, as I was lost in my new roommate's smile.