God. To the casual observer, she could have been just another grandmother.
She had short, dove-gray hair and piercing steel-gray eyes that were at odds with the soft and crepelike quality of her pale skin and her benign smile. She rested her plump arms on the desk and folding her hands, turned her intense focus on Lauren.
“As I mentioned when we spoke, one of our teachers unexpectedly retired and we have an unanticipated, and unwelcome, vacancy for this academic year.”
Lauren nodded. She’d been thrilled to get the call, anticipating another year of substitute teaching. She was in the bind that all new teachers were in, anxious to get a full-time job in a system that only wanted to hire the experienced. She’d never imagined that she’d get the opportunity to teach at a prep school. Submitting her résumé to St. Ursula’s had been pro forma, nothing more. She’d simply canvassed every school in Northern New Jersey and sent them her résumé.
“Usually, we’d only consider a more experienced teacher,” Sister Rose said, as if reading Lauren’s thoughts, “but circumstances dictated that we broaden our search.”
The “circumstances” were just how close it was to the start of the academic year. School was slated to begin in just two weeks. More experienced teachers had their teaching jobs lined up and ready.
Sister Rose opened a file on her desk and pulled out Lauren’s résumé.
“I see that you’ve done a full year of substitute teaching in Hoboken.”
“Yes, it’s been a great experience.” It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. It had given her enough experience to know that caring about your students wasn’t enough to transform their lives. Poverty, burned-out administrators, and limited funding had a lot to do with academic failure. Not that these things would have deterred her from accepting a full-time job there, but teachers in these districts seemed to die in their posts.
“As I mentioned, Sister Agnes was the history teacher for our upper school for over twenty years,” Sister Rose continued. “It will be difficult to fill her shoes, but we must.”
She outlined the teaching responsibilities and Lauren listened, nodding when it was expected, asking intelligent questions when a pause indicated she should, while trying to appear interested but not overeager.
It was going well. They needed her—that was clear. She’d thought she was one of many candidates, but it didn’t sound like it.
“We are a traditional Catholic school, Miss Kavanaugh. Parents send their daughters here to receive the finest education in a setting that prepares them spiritually as well as intellectually for the challenges of adult life. Our girls attend Mass twice a week, on Wednesdays and Sundays, as well as on the holy days, of course.”
“Of course.”
Lauren couldn’t remember all the holy days. How many were there? The last time she’d been to Mass was while touring a church in Spain with Michael. He’d whispered “hocuspocus,” during the priest’s blessing of the congregation and she’d erupted into giggles, so they’d fled the building for the hot sunshine and cobble streets outside.
“As I think I explained, this job includes an apartment in one of our dormitories.” She looked inquiringly at Lauren, who nodded. Rent-free accommodations were definitely part of the appeal.
“The resident faculty member for each dormitory is responsible for the girls in that house—we call our dormitories houses—and will generally oversee their welfare while in the dormitory.”
Lauren wondered what welfare meant. She had a sudden vision of herself armed with a thermometer and a bottle of aspirin.
“Of course we have an infirmary,” Sister Rose said as if reading her thoughts. “You would not be responsible for the care of sick children, but you would see to it that the girls in that particular house would abide by the rules of St. Ursula’s, particularly as they pertain to curfews.”
“Are the girls allowed off school grounds?” Lauren asked.
“Yes, but there are rules regarding this as well. As you can see, we are not an easy walk into town. There is, however, a bus that runs at the base of the hill and girls do use this bus to go into town on the weekends.”
And she would have to use it, too, Lauren thought. She didn’t own a car and until this moment it hadn’t occurred to her that the job might require one. She was used to walking to the grocery store around the corner from her apartment in Hoboken, to going to the neighborhood bar for a drink in the evening. If she got this job she would be isolated during the week.
“I’m not familiar with St. Mary’s Academy,” Sister Rose said, glancing back down at the file open on her desk. “It’s outside Pittsburgh?”
Lauren nodded. The memories came in a rush. Rows of uniformed girls kneeling in the shadows of a dark church. St. Mary’s girls do not follow, they lead. A golden orb of incense swaying gently at the end of a long chain clutched in a priest’s veiny hand. The overwhelming smell of lilies.
“I see that you attended school there when you were younger, but you finished your education at a public institution?”
“Yes.” Lauren said. She’d anticipated the question, the need to know why she’d given up a religious institution for a secular one, and she’d prepared an answer. “I moved far away.”
She was sure that Sister Rose would ask more, but the headmistress just nodded briskly and looked back down at the open file.
“And you attended university in England?”
“Yes. The University of London.”
The headmistress nodded, fiddling with the thin silver chain that held a pair of black reading glasses against her chest. “Why did you choose to go overseas?”
“I’d always been interested in seeing Europe. It seemed like a great opportunity.”
Sister Rose seemed to consider this for a moment, nodding and looking down at the file in front of her. Lauren surreptitiously wiped her sweating palms against her skirt.
“And you studied history and education, but completed your teaching certificate last year once you’d come back to the United States?”
“Yes,” Lauren said, her hands relaxing against her lap. “I knew by then that I wanted to teach.”
A few perfunctory questions about her education classes and then Sister Rose abruptly closed the folder.
“Congratulations, Miss Kavanaugh. I trust you’ll be able to move in by next Tuesday at the latest?”
Lauren’s mouth fell open and then she thought how idiotic she must look and snapped it shut. “What? You mean I’ve got the job?”
Sister Rose gave her a small smile. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I’m afraid that this interview was pro forma. I had reviewed your credentials already and quite frankly you’re the only qualified candidate available at the moment. We simply had to meet you in person to be one hundred percent sure.”
She had the job. She had a full-time teaching job! The tension in Lauren’s shoulders eased and she felt them drop a bit.
“I’m
