Chapters Burying the Lead Chapter 1
Dozens of chairs squeaked and shuffled, wood and metal meeting, echoing in the massive space as Gwen Cartwright eagerly squinted toward the wall of her school’s gymnasium, lit up by a projector beam. The light flickered and a new question appeared.
“What is the ideal ratio of flour to yeast in the making of a simple leavened bread?”
Gwen knew this one, and knew the button board by her feet well enough to tap the A button below her without looking, using one of her best mary janes, buckled tight. She was confident about this.
“Where is the proper following position when walking on the sidewalk, against the flow of traffic?”
Some of the questions on her graduate exam were absurdly simple — it was meant to cover her seven years of schooling in cumulative totality, after all — but this one was just common knowledge! C: A conscientious woman follows behind her guide or chaperone, away from the traffic. Whether the cars were oncoming or passing didn’t change a thing, that was a red herring.
“A door in the masculine style has a knob or a latch. How long should you wait before trying to open it yourself?”
Gwen was getting a little miffed with these trick questions! She answered B: A patient woman will always wait to the side, or return with a chaperone to open it for her. That was even more basic! There were exceptions, of course, but not many. If a door was built in the masculine style, it was probably not appropriate for an unaccompanied young lady to be entering regardless! Even with some free-swinging doors in public, a classy American girl didn’t just go barging through with her shoulder or her chest!
“A man falls and accidentally rips your dress or top, exposing your shoulder. What’s the first thing you do?”
D: Retreat to a private area out of sight, request his help to repair your image. It is his responsibility.
“A new family has moved in across the street, and you want to help them get oriented and familiar. Is it appropriate to use your feet when giving directions to a stranger?”
B: Gesticulation of any sort is unbecoming of a woman. Animation of the shoulders is suggestive and dexterity of the toes is a sin. Use your eloquence illustratively.
“What is the verse number of this passage? ’You husbands… live with your wives in an understanding way, as with someone weaker, since she is a woman; and show her honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered.’”
Gwen knew this one, it was important! It was the biblical guidance for a man to take his guardianship gently, their God-given duty to care and hold girls like her in trust. But she sure as heck couldn’t recall the verse number! Gwen squinted harder, read it again, and the four answers, but the light flickered and the question changed, she was too late! She had got caught being cocky, confident. That was unbecoming no matter how assured she felt by her Dad’s hint the night prior, that he had already lined up a match for her, that he had something important to tell her this weekend. She still had to get through her finals and get her school approval slip for any of those preliminary arrangements to hold true.
A slight clearing of the throat came from a matron behind her, walking the well-spaced columns for cheaters or layabouts. Gwen looked up at a wise face minding her with a cocked eyebrow, and immediately realized she had been leaning forward, her shoulders scrunched and tense, slouching as if that would help her read better. Luckily the elderly woman was just a volunteer monitor, not a teacher who could dock marks for bad posture, so the student mouthed a ‘Thank you’ and sat up straight, her shoulders pulled back and chin lifted.
She tapped ‘C’ for the next one, everyone knew it was most likely to be ‘C’.
Gwen squinted again. She wished her Dad would get her glasses. They vacationed on Canyon Lake once or twice a year so they couldn’t be hurting for the money, but he was particular. With her schooling coming to a close, his warm words that frames would “tarnish her good looks, just to see distances,” or “be too cumbersome for how little she’d need them,” were said in the way Gwen recognized should not be questioned or debated. Wise words, for her own good. And of course she hadn’t mentioned contacts for two solid reasons; wanting to respect that resolute answer with her best interests in mind… and not wanting her cousin Peter’s clammy fingers touching her eyeballs.
Oh! That bible verse had been ‘Peter 3:7’! Dang!
Compared to dates and passage numbers, Gwen was far more confident answering the questions about mental math: multiplication tables and such. She probably could’ve been an accountant if handling money wasn’t a sin for women’s work, but oh well. God would take advantage of Gwen’s other confidences and strengths through the hands of men, He always did.
Then again, modesty was a good quality too: like all tests, missing a few questions got her farther than answering incorrectly. But she had never taken any pride in being so meek and mild as to be thought dim or dull. By her age, the young graduate knew full well when to behave and when to open her mouth, take a risk and potentially charm her way forward in life. It seemed to work even better now that she had grown up a bit, and the many glances her way weren’t just for being precocious.
Still, she had to admit some of her wild guesses might bite her in the butt later on.
The multiple choice section of the test finally over, the gymnasium lights thunked on and every girl in the room winced their eyes closed from the sudden brightness. Gwen didn’t drag her feet though, hopefully done with those clunky quiz pedals forever. She rose promptly, well poised, waiting diligently for a chap to come along and unhitch her waist leash from the chair spokes, along with the other girls in her little pod, and escort them to oral interviews. The tethers were long enough to mill about, chat, and socialize… usually, but practically the whole class held their tongue. Finals were too important.
Gwen smiled gently to one girl in the next seat over, Tegan, who she knew had a tough time with memorization, but the girl was far too nervous to return the gesture, rubbing her navy blue uniform on the chair back with her hip in vain attempt to get a wrinkle out before her session with the proctor. She was crouched awkwardly, knees bent, hips moving… unbecomingly, but Tegan was far too focused on looking her best to actually do so! Gwen wanted to let her know that fidgeting was going to get her docked further marks, but it wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t going to risk speaking out of turn when the chaperone might be—
Sure enough a chap strolled up and started with Tegan, lifting her chin with the crook of his index finger, looking down at her, giving her a few words of encouragement Gwen couldn’t quite make out, and taking a red sharpie to her white collar, adding a tally to the two already there. Probably for poor diction (she had a tendency to mumble) and presentation (the wrinkles and lack of eye contact). It didn’t seem to help but the young man didn’t get much enjoyment from it either. In the end he collected about 8 girls — Gwen included — and put their folded report cards in their breast pockets, sticking out like a hall pass, before leading them out of the gym.
Not recognizing him from the many boys filling their home ec class requirements, she nonetheless followed the new boy politely, only brushing him with her chest once — which was a record for her — but no one dared chitchat. It wasn’t usually off-limits, but the Henry Ford Preparatory School was quite precise, and well-considered, and they had made it this far! Now wasn’t the time to devolve into gossip and ruckus. Gwen bumped shoulders with a few other girls following his lead, but most of them were too haughty to take notice of her while a new guy was present. They were unpromised and competitive, so she tried not to frown about it. A couple of them only spoke behind closed doors anyways, strict girls from stricter families.
The end of her leash ended up on a pegline like all the rest, a rolling conveyer of vertical handles up on the wall, higher than her shoulder. Sure if you really wanted, you could grab the end of the strap in your teeth and pull it up and off the line, but Gwen hadn’t tried that since first year, when anyone but her Dad pulling her leash felt so… wrong. Oh, and a fire drill last winter.
The chap gave her a second look and a smirk, and Gwen beamed her pearly whites before he had to go to the head of the line, turn the handles, grab a lead or two and guide the students attached to their exam booths.
She remembered asking once — when she was much younger but old enough to know better — why they couldn’t learn to write out long-form answers like the boys did across the yard at the full 12-year prep school. That had garnered a paddling, as well as a gentle lecture about why: it being quite wrong for a girl to write or type when a good-mannered man would gladly record her thoughts for her. Of course her Dad was too busy and Peter couldn’t be bothered unless it was for an assignment, but that was beside the point. Orals were as much about the way you recited your answers as much as what you said, and boys would’ve been lucky to get the same one-on-one tutelage. Of course she had thanked the teacher for that lesson, as much as it stung.
Gwen watched the boy walk out of her sight, and found Tegan’s eyes on her, finally returning the goodwill from earlier. Staring, honestly, so she smiled, blushed, and turned toward the window lining the hall. Gwen hoped she would be assigned to his pod to escort her home, and luckily she was.
If you enjoy this alternate history and its skewed lens, go read the original series, Thorns and Roses by CelestialSecrets’!