“I think plenty quickly,” Theresa replied.
“Not quickly enough to get us out of our punishments and back into the dance,” Alice grumbled, sitting back in her chair.
Theresa shot her a withering glance.
“Besides, Clarissa has always been willing to cover for you,” Catherine said. “Like the other night when we snuck out.”
“Yes, but
that’s just because I pay her,” Theresa muttered with a huff, crossing her arms atop the table.
“You do?” all three girls asked, speaking as one. Clarissa finally looked up, but only long enough to shush them.
Theresa tilted her head and lowered her voice even further. “All right, fine. Clarissa it is.”
Eliza wrote down Clarissa’s name, then turned the book around so the others could see it.
“It looks lonely,” Alice said, sticking her bottom lip out slightly.
“She’s right. It needs some kind of title,” Catherine agreed, sliding her hand around the back of her neck to knead her muscles.
“Well, I can’t exactly write ‘Our Coven’ across the top,” Eliza whispered, placing the book down again and casting a look toward the librarian. “Imagine the inquiry if we misplaced it and one of the instructors found it.”
“It’s not a coven; it’s a club,” Alice said stubbornly.
“Oh, I’ve got it!” Eliza exclaimed. “The Billings Literary Society!” Theresa snorted, sitting back hard in her chair. “Are all the Williamses bookworms?”
Eliza’s face flushed hot. “What do you mean?”
“Your sister. The fabulous May,” Theresa said, rolling her eyes.
Eliza’s hand dropped down on the table with a bang. “What exactly is your quarrel with my sister?”
Theresa exchanged a glance with Catherine, whose cheeks flushed pink. “I have no quarrel with your sister,” she said with a sniff. “She got exactly what she wanted, and I got exactly what I wanted . . . eventually.”
“What does that mean?” Eliza demanded. “What did you both want?”
“Never mind that,” Theresa said through her teeth. “What I was trying to say was that her first year here, May actually wanted to form some kind of novel-reading club. I wasn’t a student here yet, obviously, but I overheard my parents and Miss Almay talking about it. My mother was in favor of it, but Miss Almay called it frivolous, and her word is law when it comes to student organizations.”
Eliza’s heart pounded shallowly in her chest. In all her letters, May had never mentioned a book club. She felt a sudden rush of pride, followed by a huge chasm of disappointment on her sister’s behalf. Forming a club of that sort was so like the old May. If she had been so adamant about such things when she’d first come to Billings, how had she returned home so changed?
“The Billings Literary Society it is,” Eliza said resolutely, writing the words in big, bold letters across the top of the page. “Miss Almay might not like it, but if she ever hears about it, we can defend ourselves by saying we’re simply reading the great works in order to make our conversation more interesting for the boys.”
“She’ll love that,” Alice said with a giggle.
“If only she knew what we’re really reading,” Catherine said, grinning as she opened the book of spells.
All four of the girls laughed then, earning another resounding shhh from Clarissa and a few of the other students in the room, as well as a stern glance from the librarian—which only made them laugh all the louder.
Silly Fainting Female
That Saturday morning, Eliza and Catherine set out to the stationers in town, with Mrs. Hodge in tow as their chaperone, following behind at a respectful distance. Though they had told Mrs. Hodge they wanted letterhead on which to write their families, the stationery would in fact serve as invitations to the first official meeting of the Billings Literary Society.
“I love this time of year,” Eliza said dreamily, tipping her face toward the sun and breathing in the fresh autumn air. For the first time since the term had begun, the awful humidity and heat had fallen away, leaving behind a pleasantly warm, clear day and a cool breeze.
“I could have sworn you’d told me summer was your favorite season,” Catherine teased, swinging her small silk handbag by its cord as they turned up Main Street. “Actually, I believe the words you used were ‘I want to die every year when summer turns to fall.’”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Eliza said, kicking a pebble with her sensible, brown walking shoes—her favorites of all she owned, for their comfort. “But there is something about those few days when you can feel summer melting into fall. There’s a feeling of . . .”