Jenny's POV from San Francisco Smugglers

 by Lily Lawrentz

Thread colors, fabric types, patterns…you might as well be speaking Spanish. I hate embroidery passionately, and if it wasn’t a necessary part of Miss Whitaker’s Academy, I would gladly never pick up another needle again. For the rest of my whole life. 

   My name is Jennifer Grant, though most people call me Jenny. That’s fine by me; Jennifer sounds too formal and fancy. 

   I come from a family of loggers, and I have a lot of brothers. They’re all fine, I suppose. They’re big teases, but I’ve learned to deal with it. I’d honestly rather put up with their annoying antics then be stuck at the stuffy academy.

   I remember it like it was yesterday: I had burst into my family’s log cabin after a long day in the woods. That day, I had climbed one of the biggest trees in the forest, and I couldn’t wait to tell my family.  

   “Mama! You’ll never believe what I did—” I stopped when I realized that Mama wasn’t listening. She was sitting in one of the arm chairs by the fire, and she was holding a piece of paper. “What’s that?” I asked. 

   Mama turned around. “Oh, Jenny, you’re back! Good. Supper will be ready soon. And this,” she pointed to the piece of paper, “is a letter from my friend Mary.” 

   “Oh,” I replied. I kicked off my muddy boots, and started to walk away, but Mama cleared her throat. 

   “Jenny. Boots,” she eyed my shoes. I grinned sheepishly. 

   “Sorry, Mama.” I grabbed my boots and carefully put them by the front door, upright. 

   “Thank you.” Mama smiled, and then went back to reading. I forgot all about the letter until suppertime.

   I was quarreling with my brothers and finishing up my plate of food, when Mama cleared her throat. My brothers and I all silenced and looked at her. I glanced at Papa to see if he knew what Mama was going to say, but he was looking at her questioningly, so I knew he didn’t. 

   “Today I got a letter from my friend, Mary.” Mama began. I furrowed my eyebrows. Usually Mama didn’t make such a fuss when she got letters from her friend. What was so special about this one that she would bring it up at dinner? 

   I could see that Papa must be thinking the same thing. “Ah, yes. Is she well?” He asked. 

   “Yes, very. And she told me something very interesting. Apparently in San Francisco, there is a boarding school called Miss Whitaker’s Academy for Young Ladies.” 

   I froze. Young ladies? I suppose I qualified as one of those, but… 

   “She says that they are currently accepting new students, and that it would be a lovely place for Jenny to learn how to be a proper young girl.” Mama smiled pleasantly, as if she hadn’t said something awful. 

   I sprang from my seat. “You mean you’re sending me away?!” 

   “Jenny, calm down.” Papa gently pulled me back into my seat. I was shaking. 

   “It wouldn’t be the end of the world, dear. You would be surrounded by other girls your age. Wouldn’t that be nice? I’m sure the teachers there would be better at turning you into a young lady then I am.” Mama said. 

   My brothers had been looking at each other and snickering through the whole conversation, but they could no longer contain themselves and burst out laughing. I glared at them, but they continued to laugh. 

   Eli—by far the peskiest of my brothers—was hooting. “No fancy school can turn you into a lady, Jenny.” 

   My face burnt. I almost wanted to go now, just to prove Eli wrong. But no; it wouldn’t be worth it. A school for fancy city girls was no place for me, a logger’s daughter. Papa wouldn’t make me do something so awful, I just knew it. I gave him a pleading look, but he wasn’t paying attention.

   “Quiet, boys!” He bellowed at my brothers. They quieted their laughter, but every time they glanced at me, they began to snigger again. I scowled. 

   “Anne,” Papa addressed Mama. “I don’t like the idea of sending Jenny away to San Francisco.” 

   “I don’t like it, neither!” I burst out. 

   Papa sighed. “Either, Jenny, not neither, and it’s rude to interrupt conversations.”

   Mama gave Papa a pointed look. “Exactly why she needs to learn some etiquette.” 

   I bit my lip. Now Papa looked like he might actually be considering it. I should’ve kept my big mouth shut. 

   “How far away is it?” Papa asked at last. 

   “Mary says it would only be a couple of weeks away by steamship.” Mama replied, sounding hopeful. Papa was silent as he considered, and it seemed as if the whole cabin was holding its breath right along with me. 

   “Alright, I suppose it could do her good. Only for one year, though.” Papa said. I leapt from my chair again, and this time Papa didn’t make me sit back down. 

   “No, Papa! Please don’t send me away!” I begged. I was close to tears. I would never survive in the city, with all those buildings and no trees at all. 

But Papa held up his hand. “Jenny, it’s for your own good. Besides, it’s not forever.” 

***

It feels like I’ll be here forever. After that dreadful supper, it was only a few days before my parents packed me off to the school. Now here I am, two whole terms in, at Miss Whitaker’s Academy for Young Ladies. I still don’t know the difference between a tea cake and a biscuit, and I’m sure any day now Miss Whitaker is going to expel me.

   I hope she does. No one is friendly here. They all whisper and giggle about me; I’ve seen them. My unladylike behavior has disgraced me in front of the whole academy numerous times. I’ve tried my best not to disappoint Mama, but nothing makes sense to me here. After classes, I often wonder, why do I need to know these things? 

   Which leads me back to my problem today. I was trying—and failing miserably—to make a dresser scarf for Mama. If only my needle would cooperate! I stuck my tongue out between my lips and slowly…slowly…slowly pushed my needle through the fabric. 

   “Who are you?”

   I yelped and leapt up, sticking myself with the needle terribly hard. I put my finger in my mouth and sucked on it, wincing at the pain. 

   Standing before me was a girl that looked to be my age, watching me. She had long dark hair and blue eyes. She was awfully pretty, but she had also caused me to mess up my careful stitch, and poke myself in the process. 

   “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a body?” I demanded, waving my now-bloody finger in the girl’s face. “Dratted needle. Hurts like blazes.” 

   The girl’s mouth dropped open. 

   My eyes widened as I realized the door to the room was open behind her. I dashed forward and shut it. Then I turned to look at the girl. She was giving me a questioning look. So I explained. “If Miss Whitaker catches wind of my talk, she’ll give me so many disgrace marks, I’ll fail the entire term.” 

   I think I figured out who the girl was. I had seen some strange luggage in my room when I came in. She must be my new roommate. 

   A thought occurred to me. “You won’t carry tales to Miss Whitaker, will you? I’m sorry. When something spooks me, the words just fly out, whether I want ’em to or not. I try and try, but talking like a lady is hard work, specially where I come from.” I gave the girl a desperate look.

   The girl crossed the room to sit on her bed. She almost looked like she wanted to laugh, but she said, “No, I won’t tell.” 

   I sighed with relief and smiled at her. Then I picked up my scarf. “It’s these blamed…uh…I mean these horrible dresser scarves that have my belly tied in knots.” I said, and went on to explain to the girl my needlework plight. 

Then I thought of something. I didn’t know the girl’s name, and she didn’t know mine, either! “By the way, I’m Jenny Grant,” I said as I let her inspect my scarf. 

   She looked at me and smiled. “I’m Andi Carter.”