The Sweet Far Thing

Miss McCleethy shakes her head thoughtfully. “True progress can only happen when there is safety first.”

“What if safety…is only an illusion?” I say, thinking aloud. “What if there is no such thing?”

“Then we fall.” Miss McCleethy squeezes what’s left of her cake, and it falls to bits. “Chaos.”

I take a small bite of my cake. “What if that is only the beginning of something new? What if, once we let go, we are freed?”

“Would you take that chance, Miss Doyle?” Miss McCleethy holds my gaze till I’m forced to look away.

“What are we talking about?” Elizabeth clucks.

“Miss McCleethy, the ground is so hard. Couldn’t we return to Spence now?” Martha complains.

“Yes, very well. Miss Worthington, I leave you in charge. Girls, follow her lead.” Miss McCleethy places the crumbles of cake into a napkin and ties it up neatly. “Order. That is the key. Miss Doyle, I’ll need your help to gather our things.”

Felicity and I exchange glances. She draws her finger across her throat like a blade, and I make a note to tell her later how very witty I find her. Miss McCleethy takes a bouquet of wildflowers and bids me follow her farther into the graveyard. It is a steep climb to the very top of the hill. The wind blows hard here. It pulls tendrils of her hair free so that they whip wildly about her face, lessening its severity. From here I can see the girls tripping through the trees in a merry line, Ann bringing up the rear. In the distance, Spence rises from the land as if it were a part of it, as if it has always existed, like the trees or the hedgerows or the distant Thames.

Miss McCleethy lays the flowers at the base of a simple headstone. Eugenia Spence, Beloved Sister. May 6, 1812–June 21, 1871.

“I did not know there was a gravestone for Mrs. Spence.”

“It is how she would have wanted to be remembered—simply, without ceremony.”

“What was she like?” I ask.

“Eugenia? She had a quick mind and a skilled grasp of the magic. In her time, she was the most powerful of the Order. Kind but firm. She believed that the rules must be followed without exception, for to deviate in any way was to court disaster. This school was her life’s work. I learned a great deal from her. She was my mentor. I loved her dearly.”

She wipes her hands free of dirt and pulls on her gloves.

“I am sorry for your loss,” I say. “I’m sorry that my mother…”

Miss McCleethy buttons her cape with quick fingers. “Chaos killed her, Miss Doyle. Two girls stepping outside the rules took our beloved teacher away. Remember that.”

I swallow my shame, but my red cheeks do not go unnoticed.

“I am sorry,” she says. “That was too hard of me. I confess that when I discovered it was Mary’s daughter who was the key to the realms, I was disappointed. That the one whose misadventure led to Eugenia’s death could have birthed our salvation…” She shakes her head. “It seemed fate had played a cruel joke.”

“I am not so bad as all that,” I protest.

“It is one thing to prepare for greatness. It is another entirely to have it thrust upon you. I feared your mother’s blood would lead you to make perilous choices…” She looks toward Spence, where the men hammer away, fleshing out the ruined East Wing. “And you’ve still not been able to enter the realms or recover the Temple’s magic?”

“I’m afraid not.” I study Eugenia Spence’s headstone, hoping Miss McCleethy doesn’t notice the lie bringing a blush to my cheek.

“I wonder why I have such trouble believing that,” she says.

“And is there no other way of entering the realms?” I ask, changing the subject.

“None that I know of,” Miss McCleethy says. She passes a hand over my hair, securing one of my wayward curls behind my ear. “We shall have to be patient. I’m sure your powers will return.”

“Unless the realms haven’t chosen me to continue,” I remind her.

She smirks. “I rather doubt that, Miss Doyle. Come, let’s gather our things.”

She leads the way back to our picnic spot, and I follow.

I free the curl she’s tucked so neatly; it hangs wild and loose. “Miss McCleethy, if the magic were to spark inside me…and if I were able to enter the realms again…would the Order join with the tribes of the realms in an alliance?”

Her eyes flash. “Do you mean join with those who have been committed to our destruction for centuries?”