Evil Friendship (2 page)

F
ALL
, 1955

Six weeks after the Edlins had moved to Weerdale, Mary Drew Edlin entered Chillam. It was an expensive girls’ boarding school with a good reputation and a certain middle-class snobbishness. A few select girls were allowed to attend as day students.

On Monday of her second week at Chillam, Mary Drew met Martha Kent, late in the afternoon.

That morning, however, she was still a stranger. She had made no friends. She was not a type to make friends — never had, and to add to that, she was a “day girl.” While the majority, at four every afternoon, went hustling off with their roommates to the neat, modern little bedrooms in the wing of the Old House to giggle and complain in a delightful bond of imprisoned sisterhood, Mary Drew waited at the outer gate of the school for her mother to pick her up.

That morning, her eyes still creaky from sleep, her father had delivered her once again to Chillam. As she passed the others in the corridor, on her way to morning assembly, they seemed too bright-eyed and almost giddy. Smug, Mary Drew Edlin decided, and silly. They had been up since six-thirty.

The assembly room was filled with girls in navy and white blazers like Mary Drew’s, a
nd
navy skirts. Her seat number was twenty-three, and as she sat down, she thought again what she had when she had first been assigned the seat:
“Twenty-three’s bad luck. Tony’s twenty-three.”

Tony was her half-brother, studying medicine off at the University, and doing badly. In the morning mail a letter had come from him. He always addressed his letters to Mrs. Edlin, and began them, “Darling Mother.” Near the end, he sent love to “M.D.” and “Henry” — Mary Drew and her father.

He had written in this letter:

Mary Drew grimaced, remembering. Tony embarrassed her with his “darlings” and his “I’ll do it for you’s,” and her mother embarrassed her too.

She had said, “He’s a love! What would I do without my love!”

Purposely, Mary Drew had broken in with, “I wonder how Belinda is.”

That always brought Mrs. Edlin back to earth. Actually it was more a shame to Mary Drew that her older sister was an imbecile, but Mrs. Edlin had never really forgiven herself for bearing such a child. Never really forgiven
Henry Edlin
was nearer the truth. Whenever the family drove to Blueberry Farm to visit Belinda, Mary Drew stayed at home. It was more than shame to her — it was humiliation. Still, if she were to choose between Belinda’s imperfections and Tony’s perfections, she would have chosen humiliation.

• • •

On the platform of the assembly room sat the faculty. Always, first thing, Mary Drew looked for Miss Nicky. She feared and despised the gym teacher more than anything at Chillam. She was unbelievably bad at sports and at the things sports required of someone — an even temper, school spirit, grace and enthusiasm. Ever since that first morning in the gymnasium, when Miss Nicky had forced her to arch herself into a bow at the ropes, all the while poking her at the small of her back and at her behind while the others howled with laughter, Mary Drew had dreaded that hour before noon meal when she had to face Miss Nicky.

Miss Nicky sat in that erect, warrior fashion, her muscular thighs bulging under the straight-cut wool skirt, her hairy thick legs encased in lisle stockings, the broad shoulders squared below the big head with its mop of wiry black hair. Her eyes were big and hard and sure. She had a growth of hair on her upper lip, and large white shining teeth showed when she smiled. She smiled at her pets — those who could swim the length of the pool under water, win “Hoorays!” from the crowd at hockey, or vault through the air to problematical landings.

The director of the school rose to the front of the platform for the first hymn.

The words were ironical:

In front of Mary Drew, two seniors were nudging one another and smirking. Provoked by them, others in the row winked and smiled with them. Mary Drew could feel the buoyant camaraderie that surged up among these girls. It came to her then as something of a revelation that they were poking fun at something they actually loved; that like wise and delighted lovers, they were amused with the wonderful peculiarities of Chillam’s ritual. It was a part of them. Sometime in the far future they would miss it all, and speak of it probably with teary-eyed nostalgia.

It gave Mary Drew a heavy, robbed sensation, one she had experienced time and time again in the past, but never so sorely as now — that sensation of being left out and left over, never really having anyone. Her mother loved Tony more. Tony loved their mother more. Her father loved her mother more. More than they loved her. And Belinda’s poor brain couldn’t fathom love. Those people were hers, but she was not theirs. She had her daydreams, of course — and that was all.

The hymn swelled the assembly room:

In the row in front of her, a note was being passed hand-to-hand to a girl named Evelyn Rush. Even in two short weeks time, Mary Drew had learned of Rush’s and Beth Dragmore’s “crush.” They were everywhere together, mooning and swooning over each other. Mary Drew looked away and back toward the platform. Miss Nieky stood legs spread, arms folded behind her back, belting out the hymn’s words, which after ten years she knew by heart:

Afterwards, there were announcements, and a reading from the scripture. Then shiny heads bowed obediently in prayer.

“O God, the Creator and Preserver of all mankind, we humbly beseech thee …”

Mary Drew felt something hit her shoulder.

“… for all sorts and conditions of men.”

She opened one eye and saw the wadded-up piece of paper on the floor. She leaned forward and saw the pencil printing: ”
PASS TO RUSH.”

“… that thou wouldst be pleased to make thy ways known …”

Impulsively, she put her shoe down on the paper, pressing it captive. Then, closing her eyes, she continued to hear the prayer.

She could feel the whispering around her. She knew what had happened. Beth Dragmore had thrown the note, intending it to land in the same row in front of Mary Drew, close to the Rush girl. But she had misaimed, and it had landed back a row.

“Amen!”
the school director intoned.

“Amen!”
was the chorus.

Everyone settled back. Mary Drew dragged the piece of paper under her shoe, as she sat up straight again. While the small organ in the rear of the assembly room launched into the Recessional, heads turned from the front row, craning to see the aisle behind them. Mary Drew sat poker-faced with her shoe hiding the love note. On the platform the faculty stood, one by one, preparing to descend the steps and march single file past the rows of students.

It was just at the point when the first faculty member started down the steps that Mary Drew Edlin kicked the piece of wadded-up paper into center aisle.

“Onward, then, ye people!

Join our happy throng!”
the organ boomed. And Miss Theresa Pierce-Morgan, the director at Chillam, came to a dead halt in the middle of the aisle. Laboriously, her pince-nez swinging forward from her huge, ham-hung bosom, she bent, puffing, and picked up Beth Dragmore’s note to Rush.

• • •

Not until eleven o’clock that morning was anything said to Mary Drew about what she had done. Her classes until that hour were all with newer girls, but girls from every grade in the school attended the gym period together.

On “those days of the month,” girls were allowed to sit and watch the class. Mary Drew was in the queue formed for girls who were planning to observe. They had to give their names to Miss Nicky and then take a seat on the bench on one side of the sports field.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” a voice said behind her.

Mary Drew turned quickly and saw Rush standing there. She was a dark girl, athletic and handsome. She was wearing a red and white striped jersey which meant she was going to play on one of the teams. Evelyn fixed her eyes straight on Mary Drew’s.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary Drew said.

She was very afraid. Her heart was pounding wildly under her starched white blouse. There was no explanation for what she had done. None. And to do it to someone like Rush, who was one of the most popular seniors at Chillam — that was truly unfathomable. She stood with her eyes on the ground, waiting for Rush to say more.

“I’m sure it was you, Mary Drew. Your place is right behind mine in assembly. I swear I saw your foot move at the Recessional.”

“That’s not true,” Mary Drew countered. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

The queue was moving rapidly. Rush moved with it, following Mary Drew. They were practically at Miss Nicky.

“Beth’s in the director’s office now,” Rush said. “If anything does come out of it, you’ll know what I’m referring to. You can count on it!”

Momentarily, she looked menacingly at Mary Drew.

Miss Nicky’s voice intruded: “Next, now.”

Mary Drew moved forward and stood before Miss Nicky, who looked above her head, back at Rush, and gave her a nod. Its meaning, if it had any, was mysterious to Mary Drew. But it seemed to her as though Miss Nicky were saying, “Go to it, Rush. I’m on your side.”

To Mary Drew, Miss Nicky said, “Are you not playing?”

“No, mam.”

“Again?”

“Yes, mam.”

“But you skipped class only last week. Let’s see — ” consulting the papers on her clipboard — “last Monday and Tuesday.”

“Yes, mam.”

“And you intend not to play again?” “Yes, mam.”

“You must be anemic by now.”

Mary Drew was slow to catch the sarcasm. By the time she did, she had made her way across the field to the bench, blushing crimson.

It was a bleary, cloudy day, and Mary Drew was chilled. She hugged her blazer around her, opened her novel, and began to read. She shared the bench with another day girl, a quite beautiful one, with long pitch-black hair and very white, ivory-looking skin. Mary Drew had seen her at the outer gate mornings, getting out of a light blue car and waving a goodbye, supposedly to her father. She did not know her name, and she had no intention of trying to find it out. At that point she did not care if she never knew another girl’s name at Chillam. Mary Drew looked down at the novel and tried to read it, forcing from her consciousness the thought that every single day at Chillam was going to be hellish.

About midway in the hour, Rush came leaping across the field to the water spigot near the bench, drinking some and splashing some across her hot face. As she looked up, she noticed the girl at the end of the bench, the one beside Mary Drew, and she walked up and stood before her, pretending to watch the doings in the field. Then she half-turned to the girl and said, “Like hockey?”

“Some.”

“I love it!” Rush said, giving her best smile to the girl. “I’ve noticed you. You’re new.”

“Yes, I’ve just begun.”

“You’ll like Chillam,” Rush said enthusiastically. “Dear old Chillam. And we have a good bunch.” Another wide smile, mopping her brow with her bare arm. “Well,” she paused, leaving the thought unfinished, then with a wave ran back to the game.

Mary Drew was about to look across at the girl when Miss Nicky’s voice spoke behind her.

“Mary Drew!”

“Mam?”

“What is your free period this afternoon?” “Just before final bell.”

“Fine. You can report to me during that period.”

“For what, mam?”

“You’ve missed gym class three days out of ten, more than most do in three months. For that you can help me make up class charts for next week.”

“Yes, mam.”

“You’re not much of a sport, are you, Mary Drew?” Miss Nicky said flatly, and she turned and strode away, not waiting for any answer.

• • •

The noon meal was baked beans and milk pudding, and under the steady buzz of normal-sounding palaver were the whispers, “Pass it on: Beth Dragmore has lost city privileges for a month. She’s been warned about her friendship with Rush.”

Perhaps only Rush suspected that Mary Drew was the cause of it. No one else seemed to accuse her, much less notice her. But across the dining room, before the pudding was served, Rush’s eyes met hers in one fleeting, threatening look. The pudding set heavily in Mary Drew’s stomach. From the corner of her eye, at the end of the meal, she could see Rush gathering her friends to her side … except for Beth Dragmore, who left dutifully by the door at the opposite end of the room, her face weepy and tense.

As she left the library that afternoon after sixth bell, on her way to the gymnasium, Mary Drew heard two girls talking in front of her on the steps. “What was in the note?”

“Dribble, if you ask me. More of Beth’s lovesick dribble.”

At the gymnasium, there was only Miss Nicky. She had put a senior in charge of the field, and she was alone in her walled-in cubicle, which smelled of steam and chlorine from the swimming pool down the corridor. She nodded at Mary Drew and passed her some sheets of lined paper reading names off to her which Mary Drew was instructed to write in between the lines. For awhile there was simply the sound of Miss Nicky saying the name, and Mary Drew repeating it. Then, after three sheets were filled, and one filled a quarter of the way, Miss Nicky read the name: “Rush, Evelyn.”