The Sweetest Thing by Elizabeth Musser Page A

welcomed me warmly, handed me the Catalogue of Washington Seminary , which listed my classes and other information, and encouraged me to come see her with any questions.
    She explained that every school day started with chapel, and we walked together to a beautiful room with polished mahogany pews, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a stage with a thick velvety dark green curtain drawn across it. I found Perri waiting for me at the back.
    â€œHey, quit staring at everything like a little kid,” she whispered rather loudly. I followed her to where she slid into a row beside a group of girls who greeted her with outstretched hands, kisses on the cheek, and forlorn faces. A few minutes later, Miss Emma went up on the stage and stood behind a sturdy wooden podium.
    â€œGirls, we are reading today from John 16:33. Jesus says, ‘These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.’
    â€œWe are thankful to have our dear Anne Perrin back with us today.” Miss Emma nodded to Perri. “Our prayers have been with her and her family during this very difficult and dark time. I encourage you all to be respectful of Anne Perrin’s needs. And on behalf of the girls at Washington Seminary, we again want to offer you our deepest condolences.”
    Then two teachers presented Perri with a beautiful bouquet of white lilies and roses. She stood up and awkwardly took the flowers with a thank-you that seemed stuck in her throat. I saw she was struggling hard not to cry.
    Miss Emma allowed a time of silence before making her next announcement. “We’re pleased to welcome a new student, Mary Dobbs Dillard. She comes to us from Chicago and is the niece of Josephine Chandler, whose daughters both attended Washington Seminary a few years back. Mary Dobbs, would you please stand up.”
    Mortified, I obeyed.
    â€œI want everyone to be sure to welcome Mary Dobbs,” Miss Emma added.
    The girls gave polite applause as I sat back down, but I was pretty sure I read a familiar evaluation on their faces: disapproval.
    Perri used me as her shield from the stares of her classmates. To avoid answering horrible questions about her father and her family, she shoved me in front of her and introduced me to every girl we met in the hallway. In each class she stood up and did the same, always emphasizing the Chandler name, as if my association with them gave me the necessary clout to attend Washington Seminary. And she introduced me as Mary Dobbs. I think Perri had decided that Dobbs was her name for me—a secret, a privilege, an honor no one else had yet earned. I went along with her. I figured it was part of her grieving.
    Even though we all wore the same uniform, I stuck out for many reasons. First of all, the school was small enough that everyone knew everyone else. I was the newcomer. Also, I didn’t sound one bit like the other girls, who spoke slowly and drew out their words, adding extra syllables in the oddest places. And then there was my long hair. No other girl at Washington Seminary had long hair. Every one of them wore her hair short; they looked fashionable, sassy, confident, at ease in their world.
    I remembered Mother dabbing her eyes years ago when money got too tight for her to go to the beauty parlor. She had let her thick and shiny black hair grow long, and now it was streaked with gray. She wore it in a bun. Wouldn’t she have loved these styles! Mother knew style, even if she couldn’t follow it. She appreciated beauty.
    At noon, Perri led me into the lunchroom and stopped in the doorway. She pointed to one of the round tables where the three girls she’d sat beside in chapel were already seated. “Voilà—my gang. We like to stick together.”
    â€œThat’s Emily Bratton on the left, but everyone calls her Brat. Because she is.” Perri