Chapter 4
That afternoon when Deedee had left Pat she thought of nothing but returning to the sanctuary of her small room at Pyne Hall. As she walked, ran, and all but stumbled through the orchard whose knowing leaves had watched so many frantic kisses pass between herself and her lover, she felt the sickness grow more and more acute. If she didn't get to the room almost immediately, she realized, she would fall down in the middle of the path and throw up. Forcing herself to push back the nausea and slow down her frantic pace, she emerged from the orchard, pale, but to the casual onlooker, quite cool and composed.
She managed to maintain that surface composure until she entered the room shared by herself and Carol Norden. She didn't even notice her startled roommate's expression, but ran desperately across the room, into their cluttered bathroom and, throwing herself onto the floor before the toilet bowl, began to retch violently. The other girl rose from her bed, walked quietly and swiftly to the opened bathroom door and watched Deedee in malevolent silence. It never occurred to her that the girl was ill for one of many obvious reasons-tainted food; too much sunlight; overexertion or what have you. Carol had the mind of a small-town bigot. To her, there could be but one reason for such uncontrollable nausea in an otherwise healthy young woman.
Pregnancy!
This, then, she thought with vicious triumph, was the reason behind Deedee's many absences. She should have known a little tramp like this would take the obvious escape from a manless world. She should have followed her, trapped her, reported her when it first began. Silently she pulled the bathroom door half closed and returned to sit on the edge of her bed. Once there she began to hum a happy little tune, secure in the knowledge that within a matter of moments she'd have this roommate of hers-this dull, dim, unpopular person who'd dared refuse Carol Norden's favors-on the floor begging that her secret be kept.
Swinging her nylon-clad leg in rhythm with the tune she was humming, she lost herself in the pictures she was mentally drawing. First, Deedee asking, Carol considering. Then, Carol righteously refusing. Then, Deedee begging. Again, Carol considering. Then (and she stopped humming as she bit her full lower lip in anticipatory pleasure) Deedee offering to make the scene she'd rejected last spring. She was mulling this picture over when she suddenly became aware that the noise from the bathroom had stopped. Looking up, she saw Deedee standing in the doorway, staring at her, a question in her reddened eyes.
Carol smiled, ever-so-sweetly. "Yes, Deedee. I heard you. As a matter-of-fact, I was on the bed when you came in. You were, I think, a little too much in a hurry to see me!"
"I-I-" Deedee walked weavingly toward her bed. "I guess I must have eaten something bad."
"Do you really think so?" Just the right tone of voice, Carol complimented herself. She doesn't know which way the wind is blowing. What a smash this will be. "I don't recall hearing about any of the other kids getting so sick ... oh, but that's right!" Innocently she brought the full force of her eyes upon Deedee. "You haven't been eating with us much lately. Have you?"
The question hung in midair between the two, and Deedee knew without another note of warning that Carol was deliberately needling her. Her Irish pride came to her aid, without being beckoned.
"No, Carol. As a matter-of-fact, I haven't." She smiled, with the same false innocence Carol had shown a moment earlier as she went on with her answer. "But then, I was beginning to find the food-as well as the company-more dull and unappetizing than my tastes could take."
Carol gasped at the insolence of the reply. As Deedee turned away from her and started to walk the short space across to her bed, Carol jumped up, grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her about.
"What do you think I am, Deedee Ryan, some kind of a kook or something? And who, I might add, do you think you are to call me dull and unappetizing?" Her fists clenched as the fire in Deedee's eyes challenged her to continue. "Even old Frank-face would know you've gotten yourself in the oldest of all possible jams. You're pregnant, and you know it! Of course-" and she almost spit the last words at Deedee-"I'm not at all sure you know who the lucky daddy might be!"
Deedee was far too furious to ignore the remark, and in her fury lost the last measure of control which might have helped her keep her secret for a few vitally important weeks. She glanced down at the clenched hands of her roommate, then back up and straight into her angry eyes. "At least, Carol," she said, the words dripping with the acid of disgust, "it has a father! That's more than you can ever hope to say you'll be able to come up with." And as Deedee spoke, she clenched her own fist and swung with it, hitting her shocked roommate full in the face.
Carol went down; bounced up immediately, and bounced up madder than any Edith Pyne student had a right to be. "You dirty little bitch, you'll pay for that! I'm going to the Dean's office. I'll be there in no time flat.
And when I come out, you'll be out! All the way out! You've had it. Believe me, you've really had it."
Carol swung about, ready to start out the room when the sound of Deedee's laughter stopped her as suddenly as a clout on the head might have. What the devil has she to laugh about? Carol was asking herself as she hesitated.
"You're not quite right, Norden. What, by the way, do your lesbian lovers call you instead of Carol? Perhaps, Cal?" Deedee laughed again, and a more experienced listener would have realized she was on the narrow edge of hysteria. 'When you come out of the Dean's office, I'll be waiting to go in-to go in and report on the esteemed Carol Norden, the mistress of every bull dyke at Edith Pyne, and the procuress for most of them. She should enjoy hearing the story of our night together, Carol. And the names you reeled off to me when you thought you had me. How would the old lady phrase it-'Falling under your evil spell? Let's go down together, shall we? I won't mind waiting. I have a strong feeling the wait will be worth my while!"
Carol listened in horror. Good God, she thought, she's just square enough to pull something like that. Even if the Dean didn't believe her, the suspicion would be there and they'd watch me like a hawk. I've got to get away from here. Think of some way to get her out without giving her a chance to ruin the rest of my time here. She went into her act as she was thinking. Head lowered, eyes avoiding Deedee, she shrugged her shoulders in a very good imitation of defeat. "If you don't mind, let's just both forget it. Sorry if I goofed. It won't happen again."
Deedee heard her with a deep sense of relief, and as she watched her walk out of the door, closing it softly behind her, she felt the tears begin to break through the barrier she'd built against them.
Deedee should have known better.
Carol walked down the stairs, across the campus and into the library. The student in charge almost fainted at the sight, for Carol was notoriously lax in her student efforts and her fairly high standing at mid-terms had been fully accredited to her roommate's tutoring job. Motioning aside the offer of help, Carol walked over to a small corner table, sat down and, putting her hands over her eyes, began to think. Her thoughts were those of a rat terrier planning to destroy his oldest and smartest rat-foe. She sat there for almost a half-hour before she lowered her hands. Perfect, she thought. Absolutely perfect. And thank you, Deedee Ryan. She made a mock gesture of salute. I never would have done it alone. Without a word she walked past the still-stunned student, out the front door, and turned in the direction of the home of the elder Mrs. Pyne, descended from the founding Edith Pyne, Dean of the Seminary, and about-to-be scourge of one Diedre Ryan.
When Carol left their room, Deedee had fallen weakly upon her bed, still faintly nauseous, and very thoroughly disgusted at the scene. That she had stopped Carol Norden, she was certain. She was also certain this was only a temporary relief. It would be but a few weeks before her pregnancy would become obvious, and she had to find some means of escape before that happened. She fought the exhaustion which was beginning to overcome her. Finally she succumbed and fell into a deep but restless sleep. Two hours later, as she began to awaken, she recognized the nausea which had remained with her throughout her nap. She braced herself against it, and was beginning to win the battle when Mrs. Frank walked into the room. The very stance of her overly plump figure told Deedee she was in trouble.
"Mrs. Pyne is waiting to see you, Diedre," and the dorm-mother's voice was edged with icicles. "I think you'd better wash your face, and comb your hair first. But hurry up. She doesn't like to be kept waiting."
As Deedee went into the bathroom to follow the instructions she wondered what would happen at this meeting. Carol couldn't have gone to the old woman. She had too much to lose. Maybe they'd discovered her absences. Maybe one of the faculty had seen her in Hartmann. She'd find out soon enough. She braced herself to return to the dubious care of Mrs. Frank. Obviously, she thought to herself, she wasn't to be trusted to take the walk from her dormitory to the Dean's home alone.
As she was ushered into the cold, almost sterile living room in which Dean Pyne was waiting, Deedee appeared calm and collected. Beneath the surface coolness however fear, anger and doubt fought each other for the best seat at the execution. The slender, aristocratic woman sitting behind a coffee table, which somehow looked like the first step to the guillotine, nodded sternly to the young girl, and pointed an arrogant finger toward a straight-backed chair directly across the room. "Please," she murmured in a voice tinged with distaste.
"Diedre-" an involuntary shiver swept Deedee at the utter lack of humanity in the voice-"before I go into the details of this rather unwelcome meeting with you, I want to warn you not to try to use your disgusting idea of blackmailing Carol Norden. Oh-" and she lifted her slender, vein-ridged hand to protest against Deedee's gasp of dismay-"I know the entire story. So don't waste your time trying to sell it to me for the truth. How a student of the Edith Pyne Seminary could even dream up such an ugly accusation is beyond me. For heaven's sake, girl, if you had to sneak around and get yourself in trouble, couldn't you at least have done so without trying to involve your best friend?" Mrs. Pyne leaned over the coffee table, staring at Deedee as if she were some strange animal in a cage.
"But, Mrs. Pyne, I don't-"
"I'll brook no interruptions from you, Diedre Ryan.
You are here to listen to me, young la-woman! I shall do all of the talking that's to be done."
"Yes, Mrs. Pyne." Deedee knew she'd been defeated before she had been given a chance to fight. What, she wondered, what in hell did Carol tell her?
"The Pynes did not build this seminary, nor its enviable reputation, by allowing either tarts or perverted women among its students! Most of our young ladies do not even know the meaning of the word 'lesbian,' yet someone such as yourself would dare to instigate a rumor-and again, what horror would have you think of this in connection with your roommate and friend-that lesbianism runs rampant in the school. Carol told me how you forced her to refrain from reporting your many absences by saying you'd tell me she'd 'made a pass' at you. She also told me, Miss Ryan, about your pregnancy; how you tried to borrow money from her for an abortion; how, when she refused, you said it was either give her the money or you'd come to me with stories about her, and even about other of her friends! What an ugly mind you must have, Diedre! What a very unwholesome person you are!"
The tears that ran scaldingly down Deedee's face were completely ignored by the angry old married virgin, as she continued her tirade.
"I'm expelling you, young woman. You will leave these grounds tomorrow morning, and I suggest you never use the Seminary as a source of reference. One thing more. Not that I really care, but do you know just who the father of your bastard is?"
Deedee jumped wildly to her feet, and had Mrs. Pyne not been so furious she would have been frightened at the expression on the girl's face. Deedee was halfway across the room, and had the full intention of physically whipping some of the arrogance from this ugly old woman. The next words stopped her cold.
"Your parents will be here in the morning to take you away."
"My-my parents!"
"Yes, Diedre. I called them and told them the story before I sent for you. I wanted to make sure they got you out of the area before you made a spectacle of yourself in Hartmann. Edith Pyne Seminary will suffer enough from your lack of morals. I don't intend to give you the chance to besmirch our reputation any further."
"My parents?"
"Oh, of course your father was furious. And your mother wept, but then most mothers do on such an occasion. I suggest you have a name to give them. I don't think your father will settle for anything less than-I believe the colloquial phrase is-a shotgun wedding. After that, you'd better just hope they'll have something to do with you. If," she added venomously, "you were my child, I think I'd never want to see you again. But, that's their problem-and yours."
Deedee's mind was a turmoil of boiling thoughts. Her poor, ordinary, overworked parents. Those misunderstanding loves who'd put all of their hopes and dreams in their daughter. If only she could have told them it would have been different. But, and she shuddered as she thought of that unheard conversation with the aristocratic Mrs. Pyne, they must have received the worst possible picture, far worse, actually, than the simple truth. She knew, at that moment, she'd never be able to face them again. Suddenly she realized that Mrs. Pyne was speaking again, had been, as a matter-of-fact, for a few minutes. "I-I beg your pardon. I wasn't really listening."
"One of your minor faults, Diedre. You never have listened, or you might not be in the jam you're in now. I was saying, I've given Carol Norden permission to stay at another dormitory tonight. She's fearfully frightened of you, and from the story she told me-"
"It isn't true, you know."
"You are pregnant, aren't you?"
"Yes. But the rest of it-"
"As I said earlier, Diedre. I simply don't care to discuss it with you. If Carol told the truth about the most important thing, she certainly told the truth about the others. She'd have no reason to do anything else."
"But, if you'll just let me explain-"
"As you admitted, you are pregnant. Nothing else matters at this point. Truly, it doesn't." Mrs. Pyne got up regally from the rose-colored sofa, stepped out from behind the coffee table, and walked toward the closed door. "Mrs. Frank is in the hallway, waiting to take you back to your room. I suggest you wait until morning to pack. Your parents will not be here until about eleven o'clock. Naturally, you shall not be attending classes in the morning. And-" it was spoken almost as an afterthought, but had obviously been planned as the crowning insult-"Mrs. Frank will help you with your packing. We wouldn't want any of Carol's things to disappear, by mistake, would we?"
Deedee was too numb to react. She turned, and walked toward the doorway, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway to meet her guard-of-honor. For the rest of her life she had nightmares about that walk, that silent, oppressive walk from the Pyne home to her dormitory.
Mrs. Frank obviously knew the story. Just as obviously, she was planning to do a good job as Deedee's jailer. When they reached the small room, she carefully checked all of the windows, made an obvious count of Carol's clothes in her closet, and the sweaters folded neatly in her drawer. Then, without another word, the erstwhile room-mother literally wheeled about, left the room, noisily locking the door behind her.
Deedee had to fight back the hysteria rising within as she heard the key turn in the lock. Carol Norden had forgotten one thing in her well-woven tale as told to the Pyne woman: There wasn't a single member of the student body at the Seminary who hadn't, within the first week, secured a duplicate key to her room. The lockup system was, and had been for years, a laugh.
Moving swiftly, Deedee began to pack, taking only the clothes and accessories which she urgently needed. She dug beneath a pile of Orion sweaters (someday, the errant thought forced its way into her mind, I'll wear only cashmere) and pulled out the small blue bank book. She'd hurt her parents in every other way, she thought as she tucked it into the zippered compartment of her purse, she might as well swing with the tuition and allowance money they'd so recently decided to let her handle for herself. For Deedee had no intention whatsoever of being at the school the next day when her parents arrived. A grim sense of humor gave vent to laughter as she imagined the chagrin of both Pyne and Frank when they discovered their well-hidden scandal had escaped.
I hope, she thought angrily, my parents have enough guts to make a scene about it. I hope they force it out into the open. It can't hurt them or me any more, but it would certainly knock some of the snob-appeal off the ivy-covered walls of Pyne Hall.
Pushing her suitcase beneath the bed and removing her blouse, Deedee Ryan climbed into bed to await the final bed-check. When Mrs. Frank unlocked the door and peered in at her charge, the red curls were toused about on the pillow, and one arm was out of the covers, in an oddly awkward position. As the housemother relocked the door and left the premises, she wondered how such a girl could sleep so peacefully.
Half an hour later, Deedee Ryan was on her way to Hartmann. Once there, she planned to either hitchhike to Providence or, if the traffic was too light, she'd wait in the small whistle-stop station and catch the early train. She had no intention of trying to see Pat Aniel. If she'd been given time to think, to plan, she may have turned to him for help. But Deedee was cornered and fighting her way out in the only way she knew how-by doing everything for herself.
Thank God, she reminded herself, Mom and Dad won't be here until late in the morning. I'll get to the bank as soon as it opens, get the money out, and just disappear.
A wry little smile crossed her face as she spoke softly to herself. "Miss Ryan is going south!"