Beloved and Unseemly

Chapter 3-2

Lady Principal Pomeroy’s office was next to Mr. Maynard’s. Concordia heard voices through his partly open door. Perhaps when she finished with the lady principal, she could speak with him about adjusting the engineering students’ schedule.

She smoothed a few unruly strands of red hair in her topknot, adjusted her lenses, and tapped on the door.

“Enter!” a high-pitched voice called.

When one first laid eyes upon Gertrude Pomeroy, it was difficult to envision the lady as an accomplished French literature translator and scholar. Her diminutive stature, fluffy gray-brown hair coming out of its pins, chubby cheeks, and bright blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses called to mind an aging china doll, albeit ink-stained and bespectacled.

Miss Pomeroy glanced at the clock as she gestured toward a chair. “Oh my, three o’clock already? Have a…a seat.”

Easier said than done. Concordia gazed doubtfully around the room at the stacks of books and papers that rested on both furniture and floor. It was a wonder the woman managed to lay her hands on anything. She selected the chair with the smallest pile and held it in her lap.

Miss Pomeroy peered at her over glasses perilously balanced on the end of her nose. Her impatient attempt to push them back into place left them more crooked than before. “What did you wish to see me about?”

Resisting the impulse to straighten the spectacles herself, Concordia brought her attention back to the matter at hand. “I have come to give...notice.” She choked out the words. “I will be leaving at the end of the semester.”

Miss Pomeroy frowned briefly before her brow cleared. “Ah, so you have decided to marry that young man...what’s his name?”

“Mr. Bradley. Yes. We are to be married in January.”

“Well, then, I suppose congratulations are in order. We will miss you, dear.”

Concordia gave a wan smile. “I thought Miss Crandall would be a suitable replacement. She already lives at the cottage, and her substitute post will be finished by then.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. For a brief, selfish moment, she wished her absence would be felt more keenly.

Miss Pomeroy nodded in distraction, her eyes already straying to the stack in Concordia’s lap.

“Miss Pomeroy?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there not a way...even though I am to be married...that I could teach here?” She clenched her hands, heart racing. There must be a way. Please.

Gertrude Pomeroy hesitated for a long moment. She sighed. “I do not see how. The board of trustees is very firm on that rule. Besides, there is no provision on campus for married couples.”

“But the school has male professors who are married. They travel to campus daily from their own households in town. Why could I not do that?”

“I agree, but I have no authority to change the rules. Our women professors must be unmarried and live on campus in order to provide a nurturing environment for the students in their charge. The trustees feel that given the divided opinion our society already has regarding women’s higher education—which you have no doubt encountered yourself—it is best that the school not undermine the traditional roles of married women.”

“In other words, a woman’s duties as wife and mother,” Concordia said. Although she did not like it in the least, she had to concede Miss Pomeroy’s point. More than once, she had met those in society, women and men alike, who considered women’s colleges to be a hotbed for radicals, serving to glorify the unmarried state and create “unfeminine” women. Some considered academic study too strenuous for the female brain, even detrimental to a young lady’s reproductive system. What nonsense. And yet, how does one change a belief?

Concordia stood and returned the papers to the chair. “I will let you get back to—” She broke off at the sound of angry voices in the corridor.

“One would think you had never kept accounts before.” It was Maynard’s deep growl.

“The method I propose is far more efficient. I am the bursar of this institution, Mr. Maynard. Not you.” Frances Kimble’s voice was shrill in her agitation.

With a sigh, Miss Pomeroy got up and opened the door. “Not again,” she muttered.

Concordia shook her head and reluctantly followed her out. If she had an office this close to Maynard’s, she would rarely be in it.

The slightly built Miss Kimble stood in the hall, her long, thin nose flaring with indignation.

Maynard towered over her. “You are an intractable woman,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Neither of them noticed the staff and students poking their heads out of office doors along the corridor.

“You know that I am right,” Miss Kimble said, hands on hips. She stood on tiptoe to meet Maynard’s eye. “The old way is not going to work. We have too many vendors—”

“You may not experiment with our institution’s accounting practices!” the red-faced Maynard bellowed.

“May-Not,” Miss Kimble muttered under her breath. “I did not ask your permission, you old—”

“Miss Kimble, Mr. Maynard,” Miss Pomeroy interrupted. She gestured to the open-doored offices, whose occupants withdrew their heads in haste. “Perhaps a quieter discussion is in order.”

Miss Kimble’s dark eyes narrowed. “You may tell this…gentleman…that no amount of bullying is going to convince me to continue with antiquated accounting methods.”

Concordia attempted to act as peacemaker. “I am sure that each of you has the same goal—the smooth operation of our school’s finances. It is merely the approach that is under debate.”

Maynard snorted. “The devil is in the details, Miss Wells.”

“Can you not try Miss Kimble’s method?” Concordia asked.

Maynard’s brows lowered. “I am hardly inclined to take advice from a teacher who cannot keep her mischievous students in line. Or was that barrage of alarm clocks I heard in the early hours a figment of my imagination?” His lip curled.

Concordia bit back a retort. When would she ever learn? It served no purpose to step into the fray when Randolph Maynard was involved.

Miss Kimble jumped in. “If you had sufficient imagination, dean, you would agree to—”

“What in thunder is going on here?” President Langdon interrupted, climbing the last few stairs in quick strides that belied his bulk. “I could hear you down in the library.”

Miss Pomeroy’s shoulders sagged in relief. “There seems to be a…professional difference of opinion.”

Langdon looked from Miss Kimble to Maynard and back again. “I see. Let us talk in my office.”

Concordia left them to it. She had an etiquette book to peruse.