Chapter Thirty-Five #2
When he smiles, the corner of his mouth twitches, and he snakes his tongue out to catch it.
I nod my head slowly. “I can check my schedule.”
“Great,” he says, shuffling some papers on his desk and aligning their edges before plucking one from the top and handing it to me. I glance down at the event flyer before folding it, my nail catching the corner again and again as I think.
“Is that why my Gigi didn’t like your family?” I ask bluntly, feeling safe enough to be candid for the first time in months. “Because of the fire?”
The headmaster snorts. “You know, it could be. Harper was an interesting woman. Very strong. A beautiful soul. But she was old enough to remember some of the lingering tensions from the aftermath of the fire. I never blamed her for how she felt about us. I only worried about you kids. Y’all didn’t know any different.
I only wished you could have played together without sneaking.
Though is it really sneaking if everyone knows you’re doing it? ”
I laugh quietly. “No, I guess not.”
“How’s that going, by the way?”
I raise my eyebrows in question.
“You and the boys. Have you finally mended things?”
It’s like a switch, the way I immediately shut down. What is it about them that feels like it crosses an invisible line?
“I don’t…,” I trail off, glancing toward the door.
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just concerned about them, you know. Malachi… he hasn’t been the same after what happened to his parents and sister. His game is off. He showed so much promise, but then last year… well, I’m sure you’ve noticed the change in him.”
I adjust in my chair, slipping the strap of my bookbag over my arm.
His eyes are sad. “Harper, sweetheart, you can’t run from your problems. Eventually they’re going to catch up with you whether you want them to or not.”
Before I get a chance to respond, there’s a knock at the door. It swings open. “Hey, Al, I was hoping to get your eyes on—”
I turn to find Dr. Rogers standing in the doorway holding a stack of folders. “Oh, sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize you were with a student.”
My cheeks warm.
“Ah, yes, sorry about that, Meg, I was just finishing up here with Ms. Scott.”
She gives me a tight smile. “Okay.”
Headmaster Matsoukas clears his throat.
“Actually, Harper and I were discussing some local history, which is right up your alley! She was telling me about her project for your class, and I was giving her a bit of insight on the history of BMA.”
“Oh, yes, you’re doing your project on the Beaumont Clark School, correct?”
I nod. “Um, sort of? I’m doing it on the legend. The one about the Lee Valley Witches.”
Behind me something drops.
When I look, Headmaster Matsoukas is reaching for the paperweight that fell on the floor. “Sorry,” he says. “Clumsy elbows.”
I glance back and forth between them.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
Dr. Rogers hadn’t seemed to have an issue with my topic, although she’s barely said two words to me all semester. But to be fair I don’t raise my hand in class.
“It’s just, there’s never been witches in Earnest,” Dr. Rogers says.
My shoulders stiffen. “Well, I did find two articles—”
“About witches?” she asks.
“Well, no, not exactly—”
“Then how are they relevant?” She sounds bored as she cuts me off for a second time. I wring my hands, searching her face, confused as to why the vibes in the room have suddenly shifted.
I clear my throat, adjusting my position in the chair again. “Well, they describe a group of Black women who were lynched for what is described as ‘acts against God.’ ”
Dr. Rogers’s eyes widen just a tad as she purses her lips.
“Oh.” Her voice is calm, thoughtful even, as she asks, “Does it explicitly state that the women were being tried as witches?”
“That’s a good question,” Headmaster Matsoukas chimes in, and I roll my eyes internally.
It’s so typical, so dismissive, that I have a hard time spitting my words out in explanation.
“No, they don’t say anything about the women being tried or charged. Just that they were accused of committing ungodly acts. They talk about them like they were devil worshippers or something. It’s there between the lines.”
I try to keep my voice neutral. I don’t want to seem confrontational, but to deny it would be to deliberately erase the history of these women.
“Do you not think it’s possible they were lynched for being Black?”
I nod, folding my hands in my lap and pinching the flesh between my thumb and forefinger until the skin goes numb.
“Acts against God at that time could mean anything. Adultery, drug use, promiscuity, belligerence… the list goes on, really. I’m sure the accusations of these women ‘worshiping the devil’ was a mere exaggeration, local hysteria after the trauma of having to adjust to the societal changes happening at the time.
” She looks at the headmaster over my shoulder as if this is so simple and I’m just a kid unable to comprehend something that the adults find elementary.
This time I can’t stop my voice from rising.
“But why would they include that information in the article then? Rumors about strange happenings… And it’s not like the women were given a chance to defend themselves.
There’s no information on what they actually did, just a bunch of random accusations and rumors from the townsfolk.
The articles frame the lynching like it was justice. ”
“Did they ever find the people who lynched them?” Without realizing it, I’ve called the static to my fingertips. I can tell she feels it too, because her hands lift to her head where her hair is beginning to curl toward the sky.
“I-I don’t know. The article didn’t say.” It takes everything in my power to keep my voice even. “Apparently the women were hanged right after the school burned down.”
“That’s fascinating,” Headmaster Matsoukas interjects weakly, as though he knows I’m fighting a losing battle.
“Humph, well, it seems to me like perhaps there was some sort of unrest going on at the time. Certainly didn’t necessitate such a horrific end, but it also doesn’t lend any validity to your claims,” Dr. Rogers says with an air of finality.
I am going to pull my hair out. There it is again, that boiling-over rage. I despise the way it controls me, but I shoot to my feet just the same.
But what is there to say? The women weren’t tried. Or convicted. There was no proof of their power. The articles didn’t even say the word witch.
Odds are it was just racism and hysteria.
My body and my mind are split in two. Though my mind feels a particular sorrow. Perhaps I’ve been wrong this whole time. About everything.
But as I meet Dr. Rogers’s scrutinizing gaze, something twists in my gut.
No, she’s wrong.
I can feel it.
“Thank you for this impromptu history lesson, Dr. Rogers,” Alastair says, clapping his hands once as he stands, his voice strained.
I take a step back, distancing myself from the both of them.
“It’s important that we do away with historical disinformation, as it can be particularly reductive.
And especially here, at a school with such an uncertain history, we pride ourselves on our DEI initiatives, fostering a better educational community and progress that acknowledges the context from where we came. ” He sounds like a podcast ad.
All I know is that my power is still pulsing through me, and if I don’t get out of here quickly, I’m afraid I’m going to level this fucking school to the ground.
“Can I be excused? Please?” My voice is tight, my hands aching from holding in the magic.
“Yes,” the headmaster says. “Think about the things we talked about, okay? This is your last warning before your record starts taking on strikes.”
I clear my throat and nod before brushing past Dr. Rogers.
“I really do hope to see you at the Centennial Night of Remembrance.”
I throw a thumbs-up over my shoulder and check the flyer that’s still in my sweaty hand. It’s in two and a half weeks.
Dr. Rogers barely leaves enough room for me to squeeze by. When my shoulder brushes hers, I feel the power leap, hungry and searching.
I smile when her hiss rings out behind me.
There’s nothing surprising about the conversation I just had. Nothing that I haven’t heard before, growing up looking the way I do. But it’s still startling to encounter it every single time.
Dr. Rogers is adamant that there’s never been witches in Earnest. She attributed the verbiage of the article to the time it was written in, to hysteria and racism.
I desperately wish I could know the truth, that I could transport myself back to the past and see with my own eyes what these women really went through.
What heinous things these people claim they must have done to get themselves into this situation.
To earn themselves a noose around the neck.
But I can’t. All I have to go by is the dream and the ghosts and the whispers.
The feeling in my chest that I’m on to something.
And a message from the other side.