She wasn’t just a member of staff or just a woman he had helped because a friend of his father’s had asked it.
He felt something when he looked at her. He wanted to be around her more. It was a strange sensation after what he had been through with Della, but it was there all the same, and he couldn’t stop it. All he could do now was stay calm and be a gentleman when he was around her. For the time being, it was enough. But as it crept upon him unexpectedly, he knew.
He wanted more.
Audrey tidied her desk the next afternoon. Today had been entirely different inside the classroom. She had been fairly strict with the children as she placed them in groups and asked the groups to work together to find solutions for the math problems. Those who did would have extra time outdoors.
Hearing this, the children had worked together, excited to be outside. When they returned, she had read them a story and asked them to speak about certain themes in it. It was not exactly what she hoped for, but it was a start.
When she closed and locked the door, her mood was still light. Walking down the long barren hallway, she turned left and went to look for the chaplain. She needed his help for the Christian verses she thought to review with the children. She found the door she was looking for with “Chaplain” written on it. She knocked and was bid to enter.
“Mr. Reed?” she asked as she entered.
The man behind the desk looked up. He had a small head and beady eyes behind his spectacles. “I am Freeman Reed. The workhouse chaplain. How may I help you?”
She stopped before his desk. “Good afternoon. My name is Audrey Wakefield. I’m the new schoolmistress.”
“I don’t approve of women teaching,” he said, abruptly pulling out a jeweled box and inhaling the tobacco snuff.
His tone took her aback, and she wasn’t sure how to respond at first. “Really? Why not?”
“’But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence,’” he said, quoting scripture to her.
Audrey looked at him calmly. She could play this game. “’The Lord gives the word; the women who announce the news are a great host.’”
His little eyes watched her intently. “You know the scriptures.”
“My father was a vicar.”
“Ah. What brings you here to see me?”
She took in a deep breath. “I wanted to discuss what Christian principles you think should be taught in the classroom.”
Freeman Reed snorted. “Christian principles? For this heathen lot?”
She frowned. “Are they heathens?”
“Are they not?” he returned.
She didn’t like what he was insinuating. “I think they are good people who have fallen on hard times. It happens.”
“Does it, Ms. Wakefield?” He shook his head. “You are a young woman who I wager has never entered the workhouse as an inmate. Correct?”
“Yes,” she said, unsure where he was going.
“Your father was a hardworking man and no doubt your mother a decent woman.” He paused, and she waited for him to get to his point. “You see, the difference between your family and the inmates here is quite simple.”
“Really?”
“Indeed. And it can be summed up in one word. Sloth.” He emphasized the last word as if that made a point.
“Sloth,” she repeated blankly.
He picked up a pen and fiddled with it. “The families here know that they don’t need to work hard. They don’t need to save for that proverbial rainy day. They don’t need to work and better themselves. Why? Because the workhouse is here. And don’t get me wrong. The workhouse is hard work. But in return, you get a meal, a roof, and no worries.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” He gave her a condescending look. “I doubt it. You still have all the dewy freshness of a young person bent on doing good work here and bettering the inmates.”