Dangerous and Unseemly

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Week 3, Instructor Calendar, February 1896

Concordia half ran, half slid down the snowy hill to the pond, gloveless and jacket flapping, hands and feet already chilled by the time she reached the scene.

It was a skating party of four girls, half of whom had fallen through the ice and were flailing in the water in the middle of the pond, the other half flailing just as ineffectually on dry land.

“Stop that caterwauling at once, or so help me, I shall push you in to join your companions,” Concordia snapped.

Her threat—or the fact that she had flung a clump of snow at their heads for good measure—served to quickly settle the girls down.

“You—go get more help—and blankets.” One young lady scurried off.

Concordia looked across the ice to where the other two, Miss Dellawan and Miss Patterson, had fallen through. Miss Dellawan had by now managed to pull herself out of the water and lay in an exhausted, shuddering heap. She was in no condition to help her companion, still struggling in the water. Concordia could see Miss Patterson trying for a hand-hold along the slick edge of the ice, breaking off fragile bits, which only widened the hole she was in. The girl would go under soon, from sheer exhaustion and the weight of her skirts.

“Pass me the end of that rope,” Concordia directed Miss Gerald, pointing to the caution rope which had sectioned off the thinning ice. The heedless girls had obviously taken it down in order to skate. One end was still tied around a tree trunk.

Wrapping the free end of the rope around her arm, Concordia cautiously stretched out on her stomach along the ice, as she had seen a cousin once do when rescuing the family’s sheepdog at Aunt Florence’s farm. “It distributes your weight, so you’re less likely to fall through,” he’d explained.

Let’s hope this works. She pushed herself forward across the ice, testing to see where the surface would hold her weight. Her progress seemed agonizingly slow, and the ice made alarming creaking noises. Once, a section caved beneath her torso a few inches, soaking her breathless in icy water.

Concordia looked over at Miss Patterson. Her head was still above water, thank goodness, but she was barely moving.

“I’m c-c-coming!” Concordia called. “Float on your back if you c-can!” It was surprisingly difficult to shout while lying on one’s stomach. She could barely get a breath between her chattering teeth, and her midsection had gone numb. But she was nearly there.

“Miss Wells!” a voice shouted.

She turned on her side to glance back to shore, where her class had now gathered, along with Mr. Drew, the custodian. He gestured to a ladder that he had tied to another rope. “This shud do better for ye!” Carefully, he slid it out ahead of him on the ice as he crawled towards Concordia, who continued to edge cautiously toward Miss Patterson.

By this point she was in arm’s-reach of the girl, who was fading in and out of consciousness. Sliding as close as she dared to the hole, Concordia lunged and grabbed the young lady’s collar, gasping as her own face and chest were doused.

Despite the girl’s sodden skirts, she was buoyant enough for Concordia to pass the rope under her shoulders and tie a clumsy knot. Her fingers were too numb for anything better. She hoped it held.

“Pull!” she called to the growing crowd on shore. Several sets of hands smoothly pulled the rope. Soon Miss Patterson, revived and sobbing in relief, was safe in a cocoon of blankets.

Mr. Drew and the ladder had reached Miss Dellawan, who was shaking uncontrollably. Concordia slid over to them, took off her damp jacket and wrapped it around her. “Lay f-f-flat on the l-l-ladder,” she told the girl.

“Sorry I couldn’t get to ye sooner, miss,” the custodian said, helping her with Miss Dellawan. “I knew it was a ladder ye really needed—better’n a pole—but somebody’d moved it from the Hall’s back shed. Took a bit o’ time to find.”

Concordia could only nod stiffly. She felt as if she would never get warm again. And she must be a sight. Her hair had come out of its pins, she had lost a boot somewhere, and her wet skirts clung to her legs.

At last, they all reached safety to a chorus of cheers, and more helpfully, blankets. Amid the profusion of thanks, tears and embraces, all Concordia wanted was to go back to the cottage to change into dry clothing.

“Miss Wells.”

That stern tone could only belong to one person.

Sure enough, there stood the lady principal, wearing an expression colder than the pond water that saturated Concordia and the miscreants. The crowd dispersed, suddenly recalling engagements elsewhere. Only Concordia, Mr. Drew, and the soon-to-be-disciplined band of four remained.

Concordia suppressed a groan. She remembered, now, that her appointment with Miss Hamilton was—now.

Miss Hamilton had turned her attention to the girls. “Can you walk? Good. Go directly to the infirmary and wait for me there. And count your blessings that we have quick-thinking staff to keep you from killing yourselves.”

Dripping, sniffling, and trailing the ends of their blankets along the ground, the offenders shuffled off to the infirmary. Concordia was tempted to sniffle and shuffle off, too. Instead, she wrapped her blanket—and what remained of her dignity—more firmly around her.

“I know I’ve missed our appointment, Miss Hamilton, but if I c-c-ould just ch-ch-change—” Drat. She couldn’t stop shaking.

“Let’s get you back to your cottage, Miss Wells, before you catch your death. We’ll discuss this” —she gestured vaguely at the pond, ropes, ladder, and Concordia’s stockinged foot— “later.” She picked up a muddy boot lying on the ground and held it out. “I believe this is yours.”

As Concordia sat on the ground to put her boot back on and the custodian cleaned up the discarded rope, Miss Hamilton looked out over the pond.

“We should prohibit skating here the rest of the season. These girls have no sense. Mr. Drew, could you—” She broke off in mid-sentence, as she caught sight of something on the far side of the pond, partly obscured by low-hanging tree limbs. She paled.

Concordia followed her gaze, and caught her breath. Directly below the tree’s shadow, amid another break in the ice, was a rounded, clothed hump.

“Mr. Drew.” Miss Hamilton’s voice held just a hint of a quaver. “Fetch the president. And the police. We have found Miss Lyman.”