Determination

Photo credit: avechenri

“I encourage all humans to do something out of your comfort zone that forces you to adapt. You’ll be pleasantly surprised by your capabilities.” ~ Anne McClain

Today’s musing blog is an example of doing something out of your comfort zone in order to adapt to adversity. I’m sharing a scene from my historical fiction in progress, The Notetaker and Her Compass, of young Victoria’s first day of private school in Halifax. I hope, dear reader, that her determination to overcome the many obstacles in front of her will inspire you to do the same.

The walk to Sacred Heart from Aunt Beatrice’s house on College Street was only a few blocks and took Victoria and Milly all of five minutes. It was warm and sunny, the first Tuesday after the September long weekend, and the air was filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and car exhaust. A hint of salty ocean drifted in on the breeze from the harbour.

            At the wrought iron gate entrance to the school grounds, Victoria paused and gazed in wonder at the huge red brick building with ochre shingles. A large white turret in the centre looked to Victoria like a crown. She’d stopped by many a time since her arrival in Halifax to stare through the gates and imagine what it might be like inside, but today it felt different.

            “How on earth will I find my way to my classroom?” Victoria asked, feeling a little overwhelmed by the grandeur.

            “Don’t worry,” Milly said. “Your aunt arranged for the Head Mistress to meet us here. She should be here any minute.”

            Victoria looked past the gate down the long lane that led to the front entrance of the school. There were so many children of all ages, and adults too, going in a hundred different directions. Victoria had never seen so many people before. She wiggled her loose tooth, three from the front on the bottom with her tongue, scanning the crowd, wondering what the Head Mistress looked like.

            “This must be our new prodigy from the country,” Head Mistress Thompson declared, seeming to materialize out of nowhere and coming to stand directly in front of Victoria and Milly. Victoria had no time to assess her countenance before the head mistress tapped her on the shoulder lightly. “Come with me.”

            Victoria barely had time to say goodbye to Milly as the Head Mistress strode off toward the school with brisk deliberation. She had to sprint to keep up with the long-legged woman, all the while her head spinning with the sound of the Head Mistress’ voice, which had landed like a sledgehammer on Victoria’s heart. She stared at the swishing folds of the head mistress’ black skirt that hung like a tent to her ankles. The woman’s essence felt in twin alignment with the cold brusqueness of her stepmother’s. Victoria felt a chill run through her despite working up a light sweat from the pace they were walking. Her chest felt heavy with exertion and her heart constricted with concern by the time the Head Mistress had led her to the door to her classroom.

            “Here we are,” Head Mistress Thompson said in a clipped tone. “Hang your bag on the hook with your name above it and go inside to introduce yourself to Miss Clemens.”

            Victoria did as she was told. Once across the threshold to the classroom, she could see out of the corner of her eye rows of tidy little desks, half of them already occupied by her classmates. Straight ahead and in the far corner nearest the windows was the teacher’s grand wooden desk. Miss Clemens sat with a straight back, a pen in hand and a roster in front of her. She was an older lady, almost as old as her aunt by the look of her, with a tidy, tight bun of grey and black hair at the nape of her neck. A pair of expensive and fashionable looking cat eyeglasses hung from a gold chain around her neck and rested against her small bosom. Miss Clemens lifted the glasses to perch on her thin, straight nose as Victoria walked closer towards her. She could hear a few snickers amongst the children but kept her eyes straight ahead and walked with forced confidence towards her teacher.

            “Good morning, please introduce yourself young lady,” Miss Clemens said.

            “Victoria Anne Hammond,” Victoria answered perfunctorily.

            Miss Clemens scanned the roster in front of her, running her finger along the column of names until she came to Victoria’s. She wrote the letter P beside her name, removed her glasses, and looked Victoria up and down.

            “You are a tiny little thing,” Miss Clemens said, the tone of her voice making it sound a callosal fault. “You can take a seat in the desk beside Georgia in the front row. She’s another little wisp of no-good breeding.”

            Victoria felt her cheeks redden as she curtsied like Aunt Beatrice had taught her and turned to look at the rows of faces all staring at her with unabashed curiosity. She was looking for another petite girl of poor quality like herself when Georgia waved shyly and pointed to the empty desk to her right. Victoria wasted no time sitting down, hoping no one could see her legs shaking. She folded her hands on her desk and waited in silence, hoping that the worst of it was over, despite the continued whispering she could hear. She wondered how all the children seemed to know one another and why, for a reason she didn’t understand, she didn’t belong.

            Victoria had no time to contemplate the answer as Miss Clemens ran a tight ship. When the bell rang for classes to begin only a few minutes after she was seated, Miss Clemens dove into a long lecture of classroom etiquette and expectations, writing various points of importance on the blackboard now and again for emphasis. Once the housekeeping items were complete, Miss Clemens instructed the assigned student helper of the day, Murray MacDonald, to distribute phonics scribblers and freshly sharpened pencils to each student. She wrote the days assignment on the blackboard, offering no instruction, but returning to her desk to sip coffee and read from a large manual that lay open in front of her.

            Fortunately for Victoria, she had no problem deciphering the exercises, and in fact completed all three pages in ten minutes, finding the work to be quite dull and obvious. She closed her scribbler and looked inconspicuously around the room, noting she was the only one who was done. She glanced over at Georgia’s desk and was alarmed to discover the first page still blank and Georgia in a clear state of panic. She leaned over, about to ask if she needed help, when a loud rap on her desk stopped her in her tracks.

            “MISS HAMMOND!” Miss Clemens shrieked while bringing down her yardstick on Victoria’s desk in three successive smacks. “WERE YOU NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO THE CLASSROOM RULES? THERE IS NO TOLERANCE FOR SPEAKING OUT OF TURN IN MY CLASSROOM!”

            Victoria flinched with each smack of the long wooden stick on her desk and felt herself shrinking with each word Miss Clemens screamed at her, embarrassed to the core. A series of flashbacks flooded over her, of all the times her stepmother had treated her with disrespect and malice, and rather than feel upset, she felt comforted. She knew how to handle adversity. She knew it was best not to engage, but not to appear too detached as to invoke further fury.

            “I apologize,” Victoria said. She didn’t even attempt to explain herself, for at the young age of seven, she knew it was futile.

            Miss Clemens was shocked into silence by Victoria’s mature response. She had expected her to cry or protest, or at the very least offer up some lame excuse. She stood there and stared at Victoria for several eternal minutes, not sure how to proceed. The tension in the classroom was as thick as the fog on the harbour, every student on the edge of their seat. Georgia’s eyes glistened, on the verge of tears, catching Miss Clemens attention.

            “Are you the culprit who initiated this interaction?” Miss Clemens said, taking one step to bridge the gap between the girl’s desks. She rapped Georgia’s desk for emphasis.

            “No Mam,” Georgia said with a whimper. “I, I was just…”

            “Excuses will not be tolerated,” Miss Clemens interrupted.

            Victoria was feeling grateful that the distraction seemed to have calmed Miss Clemens down a little. At least she was no longer yelling. But then things took a turn for the worst. Georgia burst into tears. Miss Clemens grabbed her by her shirt collar and yanked her to her feet, pulling her to the front of the classroom. She instructed Georgia to hold out her left hand, palm up, and then with horrifying speed, brought the yard stick down hard onto Georgia’s palm. Not once, not twice, but three times, until Georgia was wailing so hard Victoria thought her eardrums might shatter.

            The rest of the day unfolded in a series of more unfortunate events. Victoria was teased at every opportunity by all the students in her class except Georgia. Miss Clemens, having determined Victoria’s superior intellect, felt threatened, and picked on her incessantly. At recess, Dick Fields took pride in tripping Victoria, causing her to dirty her new skirt and scrape both the palms of her hands and the caps of her knees. All through the day, the children took turns calling her names like Four-Eyes, Frog-legs, and Country-Bumpkin. By the time the bell rung at three-thirty, Victoria’s optimism for what Sacred Heart might offer was completely and totally squashed. But her determination to overcome every obstacle was only fortified.

COMING UP…

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