Virginia's Vocation Read online

  Oberlin, Ohio – February, 1859

  T he more heated the discussion after supper grew that Friday, the quieter Virginia became. The talk centered on the article authored by V. A. Wellington published in the latest issue of the Heartland Monthly that had arrived earlier that week. It had been her final piece regarding some of the arguments from the Lincoln and Douglas debate that ended the previous October. Well aware of the content of the article, she found listening to the comments interesting, if not always comfortable.

  “And, what do you think, Miss Atwell? Is Abraham Lincoln an abolitionist at heart?”

  Virginia looked over to James who had posed the question. “I think…”

  Martin snorted in derision. “She doesn’t get the Heartland Monthly. Therefore, she is not in a position to comment on the article.”

  Virginia forced herself to remain calm. “I do receive the Heartland Monthly, and I have read the article.” Not a falsehood. She always enjoyed reading through her articles once the publisher printed them. “I think, although Mr. Lincoln does not approve of the spread of slavery into new territories and states, he is not a true abolitionist.”

  Martin viewed her with what Virginia interpreted as suspicion. “What do you mean, you receive that magazine? I came home before anyone else the day the magazines arrived. The only copies in the mail Mrs. Chilton picked up from the Post Office were mine and Mr. Wilson’s.”

  “Yes, I was with Mrs. Chilton the day she visited the Post Office to collect the mail for the house. However, I visited the Post Office the day before and picked up my mail.”

  Martin grunted. “Well, then, why didn’t you get everyone else’s mail while you were there?”

  “I made separate arrangements for my mail before I realized Mrs. Chilton picked up mail for all her residents. I’m not authorized to pick up anyone else’s mail but mine.” Although she knew her landlady, who had invited her to address her as Drusilla when the two of them were alone, intently stared at her, Virginia continued to focus her gaze on Martin.

  “Humph. Back to Lincoln. If he’s not an abolitionist, how can you explain his ‘A house divided against itself cannot stand’ statement? Isn’t he saying he doesn’t believe we can continue as a nation as long as half the states allow slavery and the other half don’t?”

  “Are you asking what I believe, or how the author interpreted Lincoln’s statement?”

  Jonathon broke into the discussion. “I haven’t had time to read the latest issue yet, but I’d be interested in hearing your answer to both.”

  “I believe it is morally wrong for one group of people to enslave another group of people. As for my understanding of what the author intended to say…”

  Mr. Wilson pulled his napkin off of his lap and tossed on the table next to his plate. “Mr. Wellington is more interested is stirring up controversy by whipping the reader into an emotional frenzy with his words than he is reporting the actual facts. It is incomprehensible to me why the Heartland Monthly insists on publishing that writer. His work verges on yellow journalism.”

  The room turned silent as everyone turned towards the instructor who rarely spoke at all in their presence and only expressed polite statements when he did. Virginia, one eyebrow raised, studied the man who now sat stiffly upright with his eyes closed. Grateful she did not tend to cry easily, she struggled to push past her bruised feelings to understand why he lashed out against her article so strongly.

  No, not necessarily against the content of her article. His criticism centered on the writing style. Virginia had never considered it a detriment to allow some of her passion for the subject to find its way into her wording. Evidently, Mr. Wilson disagreed.

  Somehow, his assessment of V. A. Wellington’s writing style did not surprise her. After having spent over a month in his grammar class, she had come to the conclusion he was difficult to please. As part of his lecture style, he was a stickler for following proper grammar rules. Yet, she noticed when it came to correcting her papers, particularly the three essays she had submitted in her Classical Greek Literature class, there were some grammar and punctuation rules where he seemed to be arbitrary rather than consistent.

  After having had her first paper marked down, she made a note of the errors. When she wrote her second essay, she reviewed her rough draft one final time to check to she had not made the same kinds of errors before writing the final copy she submitted. When Mr. Wilson returned her second essay with errors marked, she noticed he indicated the sentences or punctuation should have been written in the style she wrote in her first essay. After the same thing happened with her third essay, Virginia came to the conclusion her problem was not her grammar and punctuation; her problem was, for some reason, Mr. Wilson. Did he not wish her to succeed? It could have been because she got off on the wrong foot by starting two days late. More likely, he opposed her choosing the Collegiate Course rather than the Ladies’ Course.

  Mr. Wilson turned to Drusilla, wearing an expression Virginia interpreted as embarrassment coupled with fatigue. “My apologies, Mrs. Chilton. I believe I will retire to my room now. Is there anything I can do for you before I excuse myself?”

  Drusilla studied him with concern. “No, thank you, Mr. Wilson. I’ll stay at the table awhile longer. One of the other gentlemen may help me with my chair, if they wish.”

  Mr. Wilson nodded before he wordlessly rose from his chair. He gathered up his dirty dishes and walked them over to the oilcloth-covered table Virginia had set up barely inside the kitchen door. He paused and glanced around the table, his gaze resting on Virginia the longest. “Enjoy your evening, ladies and gentlemen.” With that, he walked out of the room and toward the stairs.

  After the footsteps faded and the sound of a door upstairs closed, Martin whistled softly. “First time I’ve seen him explode like that. Most of the time he’s like a statue.”

  “No whistling at the table, please, Mr. Case.” Drusilla sighed. “We all have bad days. I think it best we let what happened pass without further comment.”

  “You never finished your answer, Miss Atwell.” Virginia turned to Jonathon and smiled wistfully. “I think I will pass on commenting beyond saying I agreed with the author on almost all points, Mr. Daley. If you are able to borrow Mr. Case’s copy of the journal, I hope you enjoy reading the article.”

  Once Drusilla signaled she wished to leave the table, James arose to help her with her chair.

  Thomas stepped behind Virginia’s chair to assist her. Then, each person collected their used dishes and followed the two women to the kitchen. Using the routine Virginia established her first evening at the boardinghouse, she accepted each set of dishes and set them on the table next to the ones from Mr. Wilson. After the four other students left for their rooms, Virginia scraped the scraps on one plate and stacked the rest neatly to carry to the wash water. She thought about what a shame it was Drusilla had instructed her to put food scraps in the waste bin since there were no pigs, or even a dog, to feed them to. Drusilla put the leftover food away and prepared the table linens for the breakfast meal while Virginia washed and dried dishes. Virginia’s final task before her domestic duties for the evening ended was to use the clean, dry dishes to reset the table for breakfast.

  The entire time she performed her duties, Virginia mulled over the earlier scene at the supper table. As much as Martin Case’s behavior often left her with the impression he did not take his studies seriously, he made no secret of his dedication to the abolitionist cause. The others, in varying degrees, expressed their opinions on topics—all except Thomas Bennett, who listened intently to discussions, but rarely contributed. As Drusilla had said her first day there, Mr. Wilson’s manners were impeccable—at least, they had been until tonight.

  What had caused the outburst? Why the article she had written? No one there knew she wrote as V. A. Wellington. Why did he lash out when Jonathon asked her opinion on the topic? Was it because he believed, like so many men, that women should not concern themselves
with such matters? She had now been at Oberlin long enough to know several students, men and women, held an interest in topics such as abolition of slavery, suffrage for women and blacks, among others. She knew churches and civic organizations prohibited women from speaking to a mixed audience of both men and women, based on the teaching of Paul in the New Testament that women shall not speak. By strictly-enforced custom, women were only allowed to address an audience of other women and children. However, dinner in the boardinghouse was comparable to a family setting. Surely, that could not be it.

  It must be her. His dislike—his resentment of her—must have sparked his outburst. Virginia sighed in resignation. He was not the first person not to appreciate her for the person she was. He was far from the only person to disregard her opinions.

  It was truly a shame that the more he seemed determined to fault her, the more she tried to figure him out. The more he tried to distance himself from her, the more she felt drawn to him.

  Drusilla interrupted her musings when she returned to the kitchen with the used napkins. “You are more than welcome to include your mail with the rest of the house mail if you wish, Virginia. Unless you prefer it that way, there is no need for you to make a separate trip.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps I will, since you have been asking me go to the post office with you lately.”

  That arrangement would work fine for the mail she received in Oberlin. Her mail sent to Elyria was a different matter.

  “I would enjoy reading that article that caused all the controversy tonight. Would you mind loaning me your copy of the magazine when you are finished with it?”

  “Certainly. I’ll be happy to loan it to you.”

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  Chapter 13

  ~o0o~

  T he misery of regret over his words and actions at the supper table reached their zenith once Avery entered his room and closed the door behind him. He blew out a breath as he raked his fingers through his hair. He paced the floor.

  How could he have allowed himself to lose control to such a great extent? If his father were alive and witnessed his behavior, he would have beaten Avery until he lay close to death. That was how he was raised. He had learned early he would be subjected to far less pain in his life if he learned to live up to his father’s expectations.

  As an adult, he defied his father’s will when three years into college, he chose to become a teacher instead of study for the law. His father refused to pay for any additional education until Avery buckled under and yielded to his wishes. Avery, in one of the few instances where he exhibited that he possessed a spine, continued to defy his father. He found tutoring work to support him and earn his tuition. His dreams focused on opening the windows of knowledge to eager students who would hang upon his every word. He achieved his collegiate goal and moved into the real world.

  Avery quickly learned his expectations of teaching secondary age youths did not match the reality. Yes, a few class members were eager to learn. The majority went out of their way to let Avery know they wished to be anywhere but in school. Several banded together to use the intelligence they should have applied to their studied to striving to make him appear a failure. Frustration over their lack of proper manners--manners such as he had been forced to learn and practice from a young age—drove from him the desire to help educate the students that age to meet their future.

  Avery sat on his chair and loosened his bowtie. He propped his elbows on the desktop and buried his forehead in his palms as he thought about the series of events that brought him to Oberlin. He knew he needed to escape the secondary school, and he did. Oberlin was not his first choice of where he wished to teach. However, with the college having its roots in two Presbyterian ministers as founders, the recommendation from his own minister persuaded the current administrators to give him a chance. He hoped most students attended college because they chose to, not because family forced them to.

  Finding himself living in a boardinghouse with students, he quickly found he had not left exposure to the schoolboy mentality far behind. Martin Case served as an example that not all students wished to attend college. Still, teaching college was an improvement.

  Perhaps after a few years at Oberlin, he could apply to another college with a reasonable expectation of being considered for acceptance. He would need more education himself, but his current goal of a full professorship motivated him to endure and press forward.

  With his mother gone before he was old enough to remember her, his view of the proper order for society had been strongly influenced by his father—one reason he found teaching at a co-educational college uncomfortable. Women had their place, and in college improving their minds beyond the knowledge needed to care for their homes was not it. He found Oberlin’s philosophy that women, and even those of other races, capable of the same level of intelligence as men to be uncomfortable—contrary to all he had learned growing up.

  His prejudices had softened somewhat, but he still held to the belief that an advanced education was a waste of time for most women. What did they need it for once they married?

  Then, Miss Atwell moved into the boardinghouse. He felt his beliefs begin to unravel. She established herself as a serious student at the college, not a young woman searching for a husband. Her essays for his class often left him breathless with amazement—not so much for what she wrote but how she wrote it. While his brain fought against her work, insisting her vocabulary needed expanding and she should concentrate more on form, something in him reached out with a longing to pull her words, her actions, her very being to him to expand his soul. He was the one who wished to pursue a closer acquaintance with her.

  He found Virginia Atwell to be attractive. Her wardrobe was basic, and she avoided resorting to stylish hair arrangements and adornment to attract attention. Her poise and manners set her apart. As much as he tried to push his awareness of her, the more his thoughts and longing for her pushed its way to the forefront, forming a constant distraction for him. He maintained proper conduct in her presence, but that did not keep him for thinking of her constantly. His thoughts about his life, his goals, and his vision of his future soon included her. Yet, he dared not pursue her.

  He managed to maintain proper decorum in her presence—just has he did with other students who lived in the boardinghouse—until tonight. Envy—that must be his failing. His anger over the success of V. A. Wellington whose articles frequently appeared in the Heartland Monthly had existed for months. He had sent several submissions to the same journal. It mattered now how carefully he checked his facts, his sentence structure, and his grammar. Rejected. Every one.

  To add to the injury, all the students at the table, even Virginia, fawned over Wellington’s latest article. Surely, Miss Atwell should have known better. She did not. He lost control.

  The woman he longed for might always hold a place in his dreams, but he doubted she would ever wish to become a part of his life.

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  Chapter 14

  ~o0o~

  March, 1859

  S tartled by the sound of her landlady's voice, Virginia jerked upright in her chair. She turned to view the puzzled look on Drusilla Chilton's face. “Good afternoon, Drusilla. What are you doing here?”

  “What? Am I not allowed to come to the college library reading room?”

  Virginia closed her eyes and sighed. What had happened to her manners? She looked at Drusilla with a smile. “Of course, you are. You surprised me, is all.”

  “I’ve been known to do that. You see, I remembered you telling me that you sometimes come by the library to do research for your school projects. Since I was in the area, I thought I would stop by and see how you were doing.” Uninvited, Drusilla sat down in a chair at the table where Virginia was working. She picked up the newspaper folded so the article Virginia was reading was located on top. She read several sentences before she turn
ed to Virginia. “Interesting. However, I do not recall you having a class in government or political philosophy. Do you mind me asking why you are studying something like this?”

  Virginia cleared her throat, searching for the best explanation. “I decided to take a few minutes to check on current news. Just a little break.”

  “I see.” Drusilla picked up a second publication from the table top. “Another magazine about current events.” She turned to Virginia with a questioning expression. “My. Seems like you are taking more than a little break. Everything on this table appears to be current news about political issues.”

  Virginia felt panic rise within her. Her breathing became shallow. Drusilla was asking questions that were far too pointed. “If you see anything there you wish to read, please feel free.”

  “I might do that. It is wonderful that you have time to study issues that are not part of your regular course of study. I suppose doing so makes you a more well-rounded student. I noticed when we had that discussion about the Lincoln and Douglas debate last week, you seem rather well-informed. Of course, those debates took place before you arrived at the college. Did you have a chance to be in Illinois where you could listen in person?”

  “Oh, no. However, I did read the text of those speeches. Both arguments were published. I noticed that the one provided by Stephen Douglas had his arguments all cleaned up with proper grammar, but the arguments by Lincoln were written in a rather folksy style as if unedited. On the other hand, the source that I found for Lincoln had his grammar all tidied up, whereas the arguments for Mr. Douglas were not given that same consideration. Between the two, I was able to determine the heart of what was said.”

  Drusilla tipped her head in acknowledgement. “How interesting that you took the time to review those arguments so closely.” She paused and studied Virginia with a very direct gaze. “Virginia, I read that article in the Heartland Monthly. I found it very insightful, not so much as far as the explanation of what was said in the debates themselves, but the perception of the author regarding what it meant for the United States.”