Barbara has always been difficult.
As a toddler, she threw such terrible tantrums that Alice was concerned about what their Albany neighbors would think. At six, she showed no sign of stopping; no amount of yelling, or bribing, or spanking, or even slapping—Peter had tried this, a quick strike across the face when things got really out of hand—would quell them. Instead, Barbara would shriek ever louder, terrible screams that made it impossible to think.
Bear was never like that.
These episodes of Barbara’s were in the end the determining factor in their decision to send her away for school as early as they did. At seven years old, she was enrolled as a boarder at Emily Grange, where by all accounts she caused no problems—at first.
But lately they had been hearing something new.
In the middle of the last school year, there was a telephone call from the head of school, Susan Yoder. She was a formidable woman—a lesbian, thought Alice—who was said to be progressive. She was the first person Alice had ever met who requested the honorific Ms. She had invited Alice and Peter to campus to have a meeting with her in person: something they had never before been asked to do.
Peter was incensed. “For the amount we pay them,” he said, “one would think this person might understand what an imposition it is to ask a man to take time out of his workday.”
• • •
Ms. Yoder began her conversation with a note about “compassion”—a word she used frequently—a word Alice had never once heard used aloud in conversation, prior to that day.
And then she went on to describe what she referred to as Barbara’s “inappropriate” behavior on the school grounds.
“Most recently,” said Ms. Yoder, “she was—discovered—with a boy from town in her room.”
Next to her, Peter tightened his grip on the arm of the chair.
“In what state,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“What was the state of my daughter,” he said, “when she was found?”
“Oh,” said Ms. Yoder, reddening. “Clothed and all that.”
“But,” said Peter.
“But—well, the reality is we can’t be certain what they had been doing prior to Mrs. Burke’s entry into the room. Having an unmonitored boy in a girl’s bedroom is—certainly not ideal.”
She smiled slightly. Attempting to dispel some of the tension in the room. Kids! Ms. Yoder seemed to be saying, with the shape of her mouth.
But Peter was still as a stone. Alice could tell some decision was forming in his mind.
“Mr. Van Laar, let me assure you that we aren’t too concerned. This behavior is quite normal for a girl of Barbara’s age,” said Ms. Yoder. “We only want to be certain—”
Peter interrupted.
“And who is responsible for the oversight?”
Ms. Yoder frowned, confused. “Which—”
“Who is responsible for allowing the boy into the dormitory?”
“Well, Barbara is,” said Ms. Yoder.
For a moment, Alice was frightened. Peter was capable—not often, but capable—of outbursts. But Peter simply let Ms. Yoder’s words sit in the air.
“Who was the boy?” he said at last.
“I’m not sure of his name,” said Ms. Yoder. Her expression was changing, slightly. She was taking on a defiant aspect. Could she, too, have a temper? Alice wondered. She was usually so preoccupied by Peter’s that it rarely occurred to her to worry about anyone else’s.
“How old was he?” asked Peter.
“I’m not sure,” said Ms. Yoder. “But Mrs. Burke in West House didn’t seem concerned, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Peter wasn’t finished. “Please describe him,” he said.
Ms. Yoder sighed. “I was not there to see him,” she said. “But Mrs. Burke in West House described him as thin and dark-haired.” She had only seen the back of him, Ms. Yoder continued, as he escaped through the window—Barbara’s room was on the first floor—and ran into the woods that bordered the school.
“What was he wearing?” Peter had said.
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Mrs. Burke didn’t mention.”
“And Barbara?”
“She said he was a friend from town.”
Peter scoffed. A long silence ensued.
